My vision fuzzes everything around me, and the humming inside of my ears aches through every muscle in my body. The bruises down my spine start to throb, and there is an unmistakable scent of nothingness in the air. The colours are dull, light hitting them in exactly the wrong way. Everything shines but nothing is bright. Walls creek and the occasional passer-by on the street seems to pound his way down the pavement, and every night-time noise reaches my eardrums independent of those surrounding it, like a conversation addressed to me.
My tongue feels like smooth fabric brushing against the roof of my mouth, thirst distracting from the pain of my body if only for a moment. The slight burning in my throat urges me to find liquid that will sooth, but the spinning room compels me to stagnate. I am extant, the pain pulsing down my back tells me as much.
As though by habit, one a.m. barges in before I can account for the minutes between waking and its arrival. It crashes through my door, jumping over the front step, and shouts its existence loudly enough for the ghosts in my subconscious to hear, waking them from their daytime slumber. No matter how many lights I leave on, these ghosts slip past the cobwebs my mind has so hopefully set in place, and through the bars of reason to encourage the claws of the shadows in my peripheral vision to spread longer, reaching for me despite the day-like lights that flood my room.
There is no refuge in the nighttime from the monsters that lurk in the back corners of my mind.