Time is a funny little bitch. Time ends, begins, and ties everything together into one cataclysmic present that is life. And it goes on. And on. And on.
Until it doesn’t.
Until you breathe your last breath, or say your last goodbye, or, in this case: Until it stops. It’s a funny notion to think about. Time can’t stop, despite numerous television episodes and cheesy song lyrics alluding to it. Time is the only thing that continues on without us. Or, at least that’s what I used to believe, and to the point: I was very adamant about it.
At first, it was difficult. I remember crying and screaming and pleading and praying (I’m not a religious person), once I noticed what was happening. Eventually, I just laid down in bed and stared at the walls, numb to everything. It was all very dramatic, and I’m sure someone somewhere would have found some humor in the situation if they were watching… Maybe someone was watching. I have no idea.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not exactly sure how long I spent laying in bed in the beginning. It wasn’t quite long enough to develop sores… But one can only make a rough estimate when the sun is no longer making its daily revolutions.
After a while, I got used to it. That’s all you can do, save for giving into the madness. I’ve always believed that my mind was out to get me, and without company: there were no distractions to hold my focus. So, in my time: I learnt that you must do one of two things. You either give into the madness, which I confess I was inches away and three-hundred feet high from doing, or you make distractions.
Me? I created a schedule. I created my own time. I don’t live alone, so I made sure that I did the following:
- Dust off Mom and Tim. (Gross, I know. But I love them, so I feel like I have to.)
- Cook breakfast.
- Go to the Grocery Store. (This is really the only thing I ever leave the house for.)
- Read a book, or do something creative. (In today’s case, I’m writing. If you’re reading this: REACH OUT PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.)
It’s a pretty relaxed schedule, and I do sometimes deviate, or add something to it– but it gives me some structure, which I’ve read is incredibly important. Maybe not specifically in this situation, but in any hopeless-not-leaving-my-bed-or-eating-any-food kind of situation. It helps.
At this point, I think it’s been about four months. I didn’t count in the beginning, and I have no way of telling days from nights… but I’ve woken up about one-hundred-and-thirty times since I started counting, so it’s probably been just over four months. Maybe five.
…………………………………………….I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. I thought I heard knocking at my door last night. I’ve never felt as… as ecstatic… as glowing as I did when I heard that knock. I sprinted toward the door, ready to leap onto whoever was there. I didn’t care if they were a murderer– it was someone to talk to. Someone to ease the loneliness.
But when I swung open the door, there was nobody there. Nothing. No sign of life, no sounds of movement. Nada. I was shattered, broken into tiny little pieces onto the floor, sobbing and retching in hysterics, pleading to God for help. For someone.
I know… dramatic.
But there was nothing. No answer. No person showing up miraculously to save me. It was just me, and this infinite time. So I’m biding it. I haven’t quite decided whether I’m going to choose to believe in a God just yet. I’ve never been into religion, but maybe since no one is watching… maybe a belief will make this easier? Who knows. I sure don’t.
I don’t even know why I’m writing this. What’s the point? You’re all frozen anyway. Everyone that matters is frozen, and all I can do is dust you off– and then dust you off again because the dust is the only thing that remains a constant variable. Fuck dust.
Ever since last night (that was last night, wasn’t it?), I can feel my mind trying to take over. The madness growing ever-present and very real. Maybe I should just give in. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe then everything will be normal.
There it is again.
It’s right there. The knocking. It’s getting louder and louder and louder.
I’m afraid. This isn’t the gentle knocking I heard last night. It’s bigger and badder and booming and crashing against the door like it’s trying to break it down. Shred it to bits.
I’m scared. It’s coming for me, whatever it is. I know it. I can feel it. If anyone is reading this… You’re loved and you’re missed, and I don’t know. I don’t know what I should say. I’m scared. And I wish someone was here with me.
I’m so sorry.