Via Email
Dear Soul Destroying Bastard,
Once again, we are here. Together. In my bed. I do not want this. I did not ask for this. You and me, Insomnia, Us, I am at the end of my tether. This cannot continue, it has been going on for far too long.
I am exhausted by the dance that we do and the games that we play. You go away for a while. I make you go away, maybe I can do this when I am stronger, but you always, always find a way of clawing your way back into my head. And by head, for this exercise, I mean heart (it’s more dramatic). I frickin’ love drama.
I can feel you coming a mile off. The pattern is always the same and it is never ever, just the one night. This week, I believe you have been assisted by my erm, ‘flirtations’, with Mr Steroid, Mr Anxiety and Ms Hot Flush, but it always comes back to you. You make it come back to you. All I want is freedom from you, but you have this skill of making me think of nobody else but you. You tall, handsome, evil man.
I am exhausted by this merry-go-round. One day I can sleep and the next day I can’t. How do you get rest, Insomnia? Are you a vampire? You do not look like Edward Cullen to me. You get to me. It’s obvious to everybody. It is obvious in my face the day after I have managed just two hours sleep. I subsequently then feel it constantly, you are in my thoughts, until I am strong enough to muster the strength to not think of you anymore. Until that time comes, I function, but you are never far away from my thoughts. I always wonder when and how you are going to wander back into my life. Unfortunately this week, you have been omnipresent.
Are you here because of My Myeloma or are you here because I have always been susceptible to your grasp? You may think that I am this uber confident independent woman, but I am not. Anybody who knows me well enough to have touched EMan’s right paw could tell you this. I have the confidence equivalent to my dog Bertie and he is scared of a blender. I may have wonderful, apparently, intimidating arty friends, but I am in bed with a Horlicks served from my Sherbet Dip Dab mug. I am not strong enough for you. I feel like there is no escape however, not permanently anyway, because I have cancer. I cannot block what we have out with others, because I spend most of my time in bed with you, because that is all I am able to do. My current life means that you are a key player, regardless of whether you intended this or not. The weak me says that I do not deserve anything better. Is this fair? You, Insomnia, can go for anybody, so why me? I let you in, and here you are, keeping me awake for the fifth night in a row. Does that make you feel better? Do you like the attention you get? Hell, I write about you all the time.
The foxes are fucking, I’m watching a generic police procedural, when my mind is capable of so much more, whilst playing a killer sudoku and it is 03:00hrs. You, you plonker, are lying placid next to me, not disturbing my fresh bedding, but you still manage to disturb me. At least I can pass wind in front of you. Bonus.
This is never going to end is it? I let it happen. This is my fault, in spite of the drugs.
I am due temporary respite tomorrow and Monday because My Myeloma is the overall ruler right now and She says I have to sleep because I have just spent two days taking a whole heap of steroids. My body is going to crash, and that my friend, will happen regardless of Us. I don’t want it to, but then I don’t want you either. I want a lot of energy, but not like this.
You are breaking my heart. I rely on my dreams to get me through this and you take that away from me.
I wish I could say this to your face, but the email is easier, mostly because you don’t say anything, ever, anyway. You are like Dumbo, just much, much meaner and without the ability to fly. Please go away. Leave me alone. I have bigger fish to fry and you are my unwanted distraction. Find somebody else to plague. I beg of you.
Your eternal slave,
Emma. Full stop.
