It was as if someone had posted a reminder my way, as the day when I told a few friends of my on and off insomniac habits witnessed the return of one of those nights. The ability to not fall asleep when your body is exhausted and your mind is already in limbo but your eyes can’t shut is a demeaning experience, especially when you have plans to execute the other day which requires a fresh and early start. Last night was another of those demeaning nights. Drink milk, they say. Have a heavy supper, they say. Nope, doesn’t work for me. The only thing that I can do to lessen the pain and shorten the length of time spent awake is roll around in my bed, hoping that God be gracious to let me off my leash and I fall into sweet slumber. I haven’t the slightest idea at what time did my eyes gave way, but it was much earlier than usual, I think.
But the early giveaway wasn’t a release from the battle against demeaning things. It slipped past slumber last night, entering the void of time in the form of dreams. Guess even slumber can’t free me from worldly problems. Last night was particularly so. It was vivid. It was excruciating to watch. It cannot be paused or stopped. Funny how the most haunting of dreams are not about ghosts or ghouls, but of people. And as I woke up with a fast beating heart and a shivering body, the pain and guilt is still there.
It may as well started from a picture on Facebook. I didn’t feel guilty about it before going off to slumberland, although it did irked me to a certain degree. A like and a comment can go a long way. What if your friend’s ex likes the pic and said friend’s wife commented on it? They didn’t end on the best of terms. I knew them earlier than he did on separate occasions. I did feel a bit uncomfortable about it, but not guilt, not remorse. Seeing them having to face each other and acting all cute around each other and swapping stories of birthday boy (it is his birthday today) while riding a big-ass tractor to go to some school-like institution which doubles as a hospital and shelter for the homeless while the friend himself is absent, however, does bring me guilt. Guilt and remorse. If I were to never exist in their lives, I wouldn’t have caused grief to the ex, also a friend of mine. If I didn’t offer him the job at my place, he wouldn’t have met his wife, perhaps, and she wouldn’t go through all that harassment from anonymous sources too easy to guess.
If I were to never have my life crossed with his, hers, and hers, to hell with all this commotion even if it does happen in that possibility. But it is not another possibility. It is the reality that had been sparked by choices we all made, that I made myself, that led to this moment. I can’t outrun it, its here with me. So all I can do is feel bitter inside, damning myself for being part of this drama-like real life development. I do hope in earnest that the ex does not feel bitter about it too. She was left hanging in the balance when they went off. Poor fragile thing, I hope you’ve grown strong.