It is always the same.
I wake up in a panic with my heart racing and sweat flooding down my forehead. In desperation, I seek for something, anything, but there is only darkness. I whimper, nevertheless still frantically look around. I wrap my arms around my legs, which are glued to my chest, and come to a realization that it’s going to happen again. I close my eyes and pray for it to stop. Too late. My cold tears have already begun to escape from their prison and sail away from my face.
Thump. Thump. Thump. “Oh god,” I whisper, “Oh god. Please, no.”
My heart begins to scream for escape and the stream of tears have turned into rushing rapids. My voice keeps shouting to be let out, but I force myself to remain silent. I have to be okay, I have to be fine. As the uncontrollable pain and tears continue to lash out at me, I rock myself slowly to feel just a semblance of solace. I remind myself that I must remain silent.
In my mind I whisper to myself over and over again. “You are fine. You are fine. You are fine.” It works this time. My tears dry up and I open my mouth knowing nothing will come out. Quickly, my hands separate themselves from my legs and check my pulse, normal. Soon after, the realization that everything I feared was only from a dream results in a sigh of relief. I roll over to my side and check the time on the clock. 2 AM.
I force my self to lie back in a vain attempt to fall back asleep; however, I can not stop preparing for the exhausting day that I know will wait for no one. As time slowly moves forward, there are creaks and moans and groans that accompany me throughout the night. Sometimes, I feel grateful for my old home that drowns in the ghosts from the past who keep me company. My eyes fully adjust to the abyss and I peer at my off-white ceiling and wonder why my parents went with this color. Why not a crisp white or a melancholy grey? Why this god-awful combination?
I question the wrongful decision of my parents until a throbbing pain forces me to roll back onto my side. 3:24 AM. “Ugh,” I groan, “Why can’t I fall asleep?’ I rub my temples in a small, repetitious motion hoping for some sort of relief. I try to count sheep, but the numbers get too muddled. I quickly switch from this game to something, better. I close my eyes and begin to dream of a better place, a happier place- one that will not keep me up at night.
The first image that my mind creates is Paris, France. I picture myself fiction-book happy, walking around the beaten down city surrounded by a blanket of stark, white snow. I look to my left truly smiling for the first time, I see the love of my life. We walk past a quaint shop with windows that show us our reflection. For a brief moment, I laugh at my red nose and although the temperature is below freezing, I have never felt so warm. We continue to walk alongside the golden cobblestone paths, until I notice a shopkeeper selling handheld mirrors. The beauty of the encased vanity draws me in. I must have one. I quickly shovel out Euros to pay the shopkeeper, as I hand them to him…Dream ends.
In vain, I attempt to will my mind to recreate these romantic images but I know that will not happen. Frustrated, I let my mind wander in a dark haze until I am warped into another world. This time, I am inquisitively peering at an incredibly beautiful woman whose piercing eyes also stare at me. I notice the intricate carvings that navigate up and down the gold metal and wood frame that surround her. Though fascinated, I quickly realize that it keeps her prisoner. I sense a vague connection between us, but I dismiss it. She looks so sad. She is wearing black and so am I.
My minds yanks me out again and this time for Turkey. In a white tunic and black pants, I wander around the Grand Baazar. I find myself to be in awe of my surroundings. Glancing up, I cheerfully smile at the luminous lanterns that are hanging. I close my eyes and smell the heavenly fragrance of old-world spices. There is an overwhelming amount of joy felt as my backside is warmed with the radiant sun of a thousand yesterdays. I feel at home. Miscellaneous mosaics and details draw me into unique shops all around where I find small trinkets, woven socks, carved wooden products, and other mismatched reflectors.
My last happy place vanishes as my heart begins to race again. I hear my radio-alarm clock play something from the Oldies station. 5:15 AM. I groan, school. I carefully pick out each article of clothing and apply my eyeliner with finesse. The broken light fixture above my head flickers. I look at myself in the floor-length mirror and attempt to smile, but all I notice are the imperfections. On my dresser, the photo of my parents in Paris has been ripped in half. There is a crack in my mirror, dividing my body into two. And the once beautiful carvings in my mirror are now dusty and dull. The flickering light of the broken lamp fades away, but I catch one last glimpse of me smiling and I am terrified of what I see.