in the dark

My restlessness lately is unmatchable. I am a creature of the night.

It’s as if my mind is in an almost zombie-like state all day long, just simply going through the familiar motions. And then when the sun goes down, my mind awakes from its dark slumber, switches into overdrive and chooses to make up for its day time nap by thinking harder and faster than it ever has before. 

I should prefect the word choice “zombie” with the message that I am indeed alive. I am completely engaged and I'm aware of everything around me as my day chug-a-lugs, on and on and on. 

Wake up, brush teeth, drink coffee, find pants. Shake off the sleep that still clings to my body, lingers around my bones like a nice warm dream. My bed – the ultimate temptress – it can simply never have enough time with me… in the morning at least. But at night, when my brains making up for all that lost time, when I’m thinking about things I hadn’t bothered to care about in years or people I haven't seen in what feels like forever – no, at night my bed is the enemy. It wants nothing to do with me. It isn’t nearly as inviting as it had seemed all morning or when I had thought about making my way back to it during my long day’s journey. 

Now it’s just cold and unwelcoming. Now it wants absolutely nothing to do with me and frankly, the feelings mutual. 

Because at night I am my most creative self. As I lay on my back and stare up at my perfectly white, stuccoed ceiling I am full of undiscovered ingenuity. I begin to work on my dreams, the ones I hadn’t bothered to consider while the sun was up. Now I remember all the things that excite me and all the things I want to discover. Before I ever reminisce, I spend most of my time thinking of the places that I need to see, the people I want to meet, the person I think I could be, the person I am becoming. I think about what I need to do first thing tomorrow morning that will bring me one stop closer to my dreams. As soon as I rise and my feet hit the carpet – I will brush my teeth, drink my coffee, I will find my pants and then I will begin working on the things that will put me that much closer to the places and people I want to discover. 

That’s the exciting part of this battle-with-the-night that I find myself ever entrenched in lately. This is where I envision artists, writers, musicians, producers, creators, lovers and visionaries get their beginnings - where they became the luminescent souls they are during the daylight hour. I have a taste of it, for I too am a creature of the night.

But the honeymoon stage soon fades, my barely lit bedroom becomes that much darker and my bed becomes a touch colder than I just remember it feeling. And you know what I do next?

I reminisce. Sometimes of good, sometimes of bad, sometimes of the very, very strange. I remember friends from days where the term friend meant someone who saved you a seat whenever they could, who chose you when being chosen in front of others was important. I remember friends that I played with – simple cut and dry, on the playground fun. I also remember fleeting events that when they occurred, left a brief trace on my memory, never to be heard from again – until now. Now when the sun has gone down and I am no longer a half-eyed, sluggish day-zombie. I am now a night owl. Embarrassing moments, stupid things I’ve said that I wish could be taken back. Missed opportunities, all those chances never taken. I think of these things too. 

Sometimes I think of these moments in a dark way. I blame myself and I make promises that I will have less of these kind of memories for the next night I lie awake, unable to find the calm embrace that sleep provides. I draw a line in the sand – one that divides me from the old me, the person that made outrageous claims to others, the one who allowed herself to fall into so many half-truths from now-untrusted enemies. I say to myself, “…that was you then and this is you now.” You won’t foolishly promise things you can’t deliver and you certainly won’t believe every person that walks through the door, into your life, and extends a friendship. 

And then other times I remember these moments in positivity and light. I think it all depends on the constraints of the day hours – where I spent a majority of my time. If my days are spent in positivity and I’m growing in all the things I desire, than most often at night in the absolute silence, I think of the missed opportunities and the chances not taken in a positive way. It reminds me to step outside myself and believe in unconquered land. I draw the same line in the sand, but this time it’s different. This time it’s not a rigid line of distinction between a present, past and prospective me. I draw it as a line gesturing in a direction of unimaginable growth and happiness. Where the next time I learn to trust and be a better woman, a better soul and a forgiver. A friend and a fighter. A visionary. 

It all depends I suppose, on the constraints I feel in the daylight hours. 

The evening isn’t finished however, and lately the end has become a stage I feel the most familiar with, and most certainly not by choice. This is where I really desire sleep. I am done being creative, I am done remembering and now all I want to do is close my eyes, flip the switch or turn the nob or whatever it is you should be able to do and just go to sleep. I have to be a somewhat functional zombie tomorrow and I need sleep in order to do so. I have to step out of bed, grab my coffee, and put into action all those giant, foreboding steps I’ve spent the last few hours thinking about. 

My bed becomes a rigid board of wood beneath me. It doesn’t mold with my body, it doesn’t make any apologies for my discomfort – I am an intruder and my presence isn’t welcome here. My pillows are trying to suffocate me. They’ve had just about enough of me and my constant fight to get cozy and now, now they’ve resorted to filling in all around me and blocking any available airflow. My blankets are cold and their wrapped around me like a thousand writhing, carnivorous snakes. I thought there were only two blankets on this “bed” and now there feels like a dozen. I’m hot, and then I’m cold again and my mind is racing in a million different directions. 

I am not productive, I am not happy, I am not the luminescent visionary I was an hour again.  

Now I simply beg for sleep. 

I miss people I shouldn’t, people I don’t even think I really miss. I feel age-old emotions, remember deep and lonely songs and I am simply not my own fan. Sleep - where art thou?

I grab a glass of water and sometimes I begin to read whatever is beside my bed that particular evening. Sometimes these things work, sometimes they don’t. But then a strange thing happens. It’s a part I can never seem to quite remember so I can’t speak to what happens in these final stages of my night but suddenly, out of nowhere - I fall asleep. Dreams come and their usually friendly. Sometimes they’re not, but their almost always illusive come morning time. I wake up, I brush my teeth, I drink my cup of coffee. The sun pours through my window, licking its lips at the promise of the day and I join in on the activity. I think of my bed and the battle that ensued the night before and I am sure it won’t be like that again, the next time I lie down.

But lately, it is like this. And every single stage is more intense then the night before.

I really am a creature of the night.

Sometimes I think anything is possible in the dark – wide awake and in the dark.