it always happens this way. i focus on the darkness behind my closed eyes and will them to get heavier, to push me past the threshold into sleep. it doesn’t work.

through my eyelids, i sense illumination. i open. turn. phone notification. 2:45 am. jesus. i’m pretty sure it’s been about 2 hours since I attempted to fall asleep. two hours of tossing and turning and thoughts. so many fucking thoughts.

some of them are good, i guess. well, less bad. i think about that guy i talked to once and how he said something funny and how nice it would be to talk to him every day and have guaranteed laughter. ah, well. i doubt he remembers my name.

then i think about how alone i am. amongst other issues, it’s also quarantine, and the only person i’ve had consistent contact with outside of my family is my therapist. and a few friends, i guess. but it feels different than it used to with them. like they’ve moved on along with the rest of the world and im somehow stuck. 

and i’m still awake.

i wonder if i’ll ever feel unstuck. i know everyone deals with tough times but 

i suppose i’m narcissistic enough to think that some of mine are tougher than the average person’s. i don’t know if i’ll ever get past it. i don’t exactly have a reference—i’m not sure how to fix it. could i have a normal life? will i love someone? could someone love me?

could i have a normal job? what would i even want to do? none of it seems enticing. i’m not even entirely sure what brings me joy. books, sure, listening to music yes, analyzing marvel movies, staring at the moon at night, eating good lasagna. not sure how to translate any of those into careers. and wow, i need more hobbies.

i’m spiraling again.

how is everyone so much more established? you all have the perfect life plan laid out ahead of you, and i’m not even sure if—

alarm. turn. 6am. holy shit.

i guess at some point the exhaustion won over. took long enough. i’m still exhausted now, though. i guess under—3? 2? hours of sleep will do that to you. i couldn’t tell you when my body finally decided to shut up off and grant me those. 

i get out of bed. get ready. exchange untold words with my mom. we drive to the hospital.

this is the fun part.

i wait in a room and lie on a bed and my vitals are taken and doctors talk and i’m sure other things occur. i’m stuck with an IV. it pierces straight through my skin, and the tube fills with blood. now i just wait

this is exciting.

a nurse comes in and we make small talk as i began getting wheeled to the operating room. she puts on my song of choice– careless whisper by george michael. an oxygen mask is covering my mouth. the air is so clean, so pure. inhaling it relaxes me, consumes me with the urge to float away.

and then, through the IV, it’s cold. i feel it course through the line and travel through my body. but it’s not uncomfortable; rather, it feels like a cool filter, washing away the taint within me. they say i should be asleep before i can count to 10. i’ve tested the theory—i usually get to around 6 or 7, but i’m not sure how accurate my counting is.

it’s beautiful. the anesthesia temporarily changes the oscillation patterns in my brain, depressing my nervous system and ability to physically respond. my body can’t move, my signals are blocked. i’m simply there. i feel it happening. for an instant, there are no thoughts, only the acute awareness of unconsciousness overtaking me. my vision starts to blur—my eyes are heavy. finally. george michael sounds like he’s in another dimension. 

and then i wake up. the past 30 minutes are gone from my memory. it’s different from normal sleep in that regard—even dreams can’t breach it’s grasp. i think those 7 seconds before i fell asleep—those were the best 7 seconds i’ve felt all week, since the last procedure. i instantly wish to relive them. to have all of my thoughts shut off and have guaranteed sleep. but i can’t ask for that.

so i look forward to next week.

i think back to earlier. i crave that anesthesia, the feeling of nothing before the darkness. the drifting off without the stress first. my body yearns to have that peace, the stability, the inability to do. i need it. i hope that one day i won’t.