Insomnia Diary

It's another night like this.

I huddled in bed, the quilt wrapped tightly around me. The soft fabric gave me a ridiculous sense of security. Unfortunately, it couldn't suppress my crazy thoughts.

Sleep? Oh, it's like an ignorant lover, always hiding from me.

I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling. The clock on the wall ticked, as if laughing at me. Every minute and every second seemed to be torturing me.

The lights were dim, and there was only a faint light in the room. I stared at the ceiling, counting every breath, trying to calm myself down. The funny thing is that the more I want to calm down, the more manic my thoughts become.

The phone lay quietly on the bedside table, and the screen occasionally lit up, showing the time late at night. Every time the screen flashed, it seemed to remind me: another hour has passed, and I am still awake.

My fingers unconsciously drew circles on the quilt. Winter nights are always particularly long, and the cold quietly climbs up my spine. I tried to adjust my posture, turning left and right, hoping to find a comfortable angle. Unfortunately, comfort is already a luxury for me.

The street lights outside the window flickered, and the city was still running in my dreams. I began to think about the unsolvable mysteries of life: Why can some people fall asleep in seconds? Why am I the only one who struggles with sleep like a curse?

Anxiety is like an invisible net, tightly entangling me. The pressure of work, the expectations of life, the unknown future - all of these are growing wantonly in my mind. Every idea is like a seed, growing wildly in the dark night.

Suddenly, a breeze blew through the curtains. There was an inexplicable loneliness in the room. I began to suspect that perhaps insomnia is not just a physiological problem, but also a psychological torture.

I tried countless methods: warm milk, meditation, deep breathing, but these are like a drop of water thrown into the sea, insignificant.

Four o'clock in the morning, the quietest moment in the world. The silence at this moment is even more terrifying. Every second is like a long torture. I began to doubt whether I was still a normal person: why is the whole world sleeping, only I am awake?

I began to recall what happened today. The pressure of work, the quarrels between colleagues, the unfinished projects. These fragments kept reorganizing in my mind, forming one disturbing picture after another. I wanted to shake off these thoughts, but they were like the hair that stuck to my body and could not be shaken off.

Occasionally, there was the roar of a car outside the window, or a few barks of dogs in the distance. These sounds should have been irritating, but at this moment, they became the only existence I could perceive. At least, they proved that the world was still moving, not just my small house surrounded by darkness.

I tried to do something. Take a deep breath, count sheep, listen to soothing music. But all this was like a futile struggle. Sleep, the lover who always avoided me, was still nowhere to be found.

Occasionally, I would wonder if I still remember what it felt like to fall asleep. The feeling of being completely relaxed, gradually blurring consciousness, and being gently embraced by dreams seemed out of reach for me now.

The night was getting deeper and deeper, and time seemed to freeze. My thoughts were like a wild horse that had broken free from its reins, running wildly on the grassland of memory.

I know I will be awakened by the alarm clock tomorrow morning, and start a new day with sleepy eyes and tired body. But now, at this moment, I am just a shadow troubled by loneliness and insomnia, struggling in this silent night.

So be it. Another sleepless night, another long moment of waiting for dawn.