sleepless nights

Nights when I can't sleep, when I can't seem to shut my eyes long enough to fall asleep, when I can't seem to focus, are nights they come. They don't really have a name, but they prey on the weak. They prey on those who will easily fall into their clutches. I sometimes call them fears, others call them anxiety, some, some call them death.

Tonight is one of those nights. I lay with my back against the bathroom door, my hand stuffed in my mouth to prevent me from screaming. They pound against the door, screaming at me to let them in. My head hits my knees as I curl up into a ball, defeated, as they walk in, whispering things that reach my head.

"Never good enough."

"Just a pretty face, nothing else."

"Kill yourself already."

"You aren't worth anything."

"Not even good at being a pretty face."

I pull myself up, staggering to the bathtub. The water rushes past my body as I lower myself down, my hand slapping against the cold granite, searching for the bottle that would end it all. I smile to myself as my hand meets plastic, clumsily pulling the lid off. No one would worry about me after I'm gone. I doubt anyone would ever notice. I chuckle softly, the pills hitting my hand, my eyes slowly closing as I push them into my mouth. I swallow them, their sides hitting my throat painfully.

"You deserve this pain."

Then, darkness.

My body shakes as my eyes open. He enters my view, at first, a blur, then my vision clears slightly. I hear him, but everything is muffled. His eyes shine down on me, worry on his face. I try to smile up at him, weakly raising my hand to cover the scar on his cheek. I beg my eyes to convey a message - to tell him that I'll be alright. He continues to shout, his eyebrows scrunching up as he shouts at someone, his gloved hands holding my face. I burrow my head deep into his hands and take a deep breathe.

The next time I wake up, I'm being rushed down the halls of a hospital, the muted chatter echoing inside my ears. I hear his voice mixed with the chatter, calling out to me as the nurses push me past doors he cannot pass. The light is harsh above me, the spaces between them providing no comfort for my eyes. A mask is pulled over my face, and, once again, I face darkness.

The last time I wake up, I'm in the corner of a room, watching them. He's crying over my body, and I can't do anything about it. All I can do is stare. I sob gently into my sleeve. I'm wearing his sweater, the sweater that he pulled over my shoulders before he rushed me to the hospital. I feel hopeless now. I want to wrap him up in my arms and tell him it's going to be okay, but I can't. I can't do anything. Now, I truly feel hopeless. Now, I just want the darkness to come and drag me down. But light comes instead.