I have dreams of orca whales and owls.

I’ve been so thirsty these days, crazy thirsty for no reason. I like it though, the instant gratification. I get little breaths of relief all day. I like the glass I drink from too; petite, delicate, faux crystal. If I think about it, it makes sense that I need so much water these days. All the emotional spring-cleaning I’ve been doing is being mirrored in my body. It’s like I’m flushing out all the negativity. I’m reviving myself.

It’s almost three am again. I am well aware that 3am comes once a day, just as often as any other hour. I just wish we didn’t meet so often. In hospital, I barely slept but the nights began early anyway. I’d start to feel my lids pulling at around eight. By ten I’d be having my first dose of sleep. In hospital, the hours of the night are infinite. There is no rest. Between the panic when you close your eyes and the nightmares when you do and the nurses slamming lights open, there is no rest. Which is kind of fucking annoying. Surely, hospitals are exactly where you should be resting.

I learnt to sleep early in hospital. Ten to six and the numerous pricks in between. Now it’s almost three am again.

I am not an insomniac. I used to be, back when I was seventeen and furious and scared. I don’t know why I avoid my bed-time. Maybe it’s because I’m worried about what thoughts will drift into my mind, I don’t know. I slept better when I first got out of hospital, when I was still jumpy and fragile and sore. I had to sleep next to my mother on the first night. It took me weeks to close the doors between our bedrooms like I used to.

I should sleep because I have another doctor’s appointment tomorrow.

I think I just love the night. I love the silence. I have space to think. I feel like I can breathe at night.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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