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A magical trip awaits you in Lucia's mind...
Confession Session #13: Close Your Eyes
Hey, readers~!

It’s nearly one in the morning on a school night. I don’t know why, but I can’t sleep anymore. I figured I’d write a confession session for last month, haha. I find that I’m always a month behind. In sooth, I probably do have enough time scattered here and there, but it’s not just time I need to write entries. I also require a tad of inspiration.

Today’s confession has to do with sleep so, you know, why not? There’s nothing like writing about something you’re currently engaged in.

At some point in my life, I developed a form on insomnia. I like to refer to it as a self-caused insomnia because, well, I’m pretty sure I caused it myself! I think it started becoming a serious issue in grade six.

Grade six was relatively close to a living hell for me. My teacher hated me and that ruined my experienced completely. She wasn’t suited to teach elementary kids, in my opinion. Looking back now, I did learn a lot in grade six, but it was the year I realized how broken I’ve become.

To my grade six teacher, you know who you are, remember when I was sick that one time? Just once was I fated to miss school and did you do anything to help me catch up? You told me of assignments I’ve yet to do when I was well enough to return to the student prison. I did all of it, but you know what you forgot to do? Tell me the criteria for all that homework. You didn’t tell me the story had to be in a certain format. “A for story, D for format, C for average,” you had written. That was the lowest mark I got, but it put my hopes in new lows as well.

Oh, and my grade six teacher, remember how you made us write pages upon pages of notes everyday for science class only to give us the typed notes afterwards? You know what that accomplished? It bruised my palm from me trying so hard to keep up with the speed you were switching the overhead slides by. A bruised hand is painful to write with. Do know that I kept my grade six science duo-tang, despite its tearing bindings, as a reminder, a memento, of that torture.

On the plus side, though, my grade six teacher, at least I learned in your class. At least after your class, junior high was a breeze. At least after your class, I couldn’t care for my health. After your class, I stopped really sleeping, but that’s good, isn’t it?

As you can see, readers, I do bear some grudges against past professors. In a world where educators are plenty but job offers are scarce, I’m bemused at how any teacher capable of destroying a child’s mentality is in financial stability.

In grade six, I found myself staying up to an hour past midnight. At the time, a lot of my classmates did. It wasn’t an act of conformity. It was an act of obedience and of necessity. To get the work give by your teacher done, you had to stay up. There simply wasn’t enough time in a day to sleep early.

At the time, my siblings, too, stayed up late. They, however, didn’t have nearly as much homework. Grade six was particularly hard at home as well because of my workload. My siblings treated me as if I was some diseased beggar in ancient times. They thought I was exaggerating my struggle, but, dear siblings, I would never.

“I ended up staying up to one in the morning,” I remember saying to my friend, codename Ailicec (pronounced ah-lee-see-s).

“Me, too,” she’d answer. There was comfort in that mutuality. There was none evidence with my siblings who stayed up like me.

And so, summer past. I spent my summer days probably watching anime and reading manga, revelling in as much time to myself as I could before the dreaded junior high started.

Where I live, elementary persists until grade six. From grade seven to nine, you’re considered a junior high student. From grade ten to twelve (or thirteen if you couldn’t finish in three years), you’re called either a high school student or a senior high student. When you get into university, people refer to you by the years you’ve been in university (ie. “first year,” “second year,” so on so forth).

My grade seven year was among the best years of education I ever had. Not only was the workload a huge relief from what I became accustomed to, I also had a handful of excellent teachers. Grade eight was similar, and grade nine was just bogus.

Aye, my grade nine year kind of sucked. With teachers being transferred left and right, I only had my math teacher to confide in. She’s a saviour, without a doubt. Without her, who knows where I’d be right now?

In the future, I might tell you of how many times I needed to be rescued. I might even make it a journal series because, if you aren’t familiar with my journal, I am quite fond of journal series. In fact, this confession session is the thirteenth in my CS series.

Anyways, junior high was... odd. I realize now, when I’m a senior high student, that I had a lot of time in junior high. When I was attending grades seven to nine, I felt very deprived of my hours.

In grade seven, I still stayed up to midnight or one in the morning, simply out of habit. In grade eight, it started stretching a little bit later. In grade nine, my typical bedtime was around three in the morning. Some days it reached four, and there were two or three days I stayed up until five.

I know it’s not healthy and I’m constantly crowded with questions like “how do you do it?” and “isn’t that bad for you?” I do it out of necessity, not out of pleasure (usually, haha) and of course it’s detrimental to my wellbeing! Apparently, I’m a masochist.

When high school started, I was completely caught off guard. That is, on the first day of high school, I was still very much into my summer break sleeping schedule. I believed I stayed up to around four.

In semester one, my typical bedtime was four in the morning. I had a few weeks staying up to five in the morning because I played an important role in a huge group project.

I remember staying up editing a film which, at a first glance, looks amateur, but the volume levels and background music fit really well. My only identifiable errors were poor lighting and novice camcorder skills. If you’d like, feel free to look up “Technological Hope Project Film” or something similar to that on YouTube. The plane and the puppets were all handmade.

Weekends were supposed to be my time to sleep. I do, as mentioned in previous journal entries, volunteer regularly at my church’s Saturday School program thingymahdoohickey.

Over Christmas break, my brother came home from a neighbouring city to spend a bit of time with us again. I hardly slept during this time as well. Seldom can I find someone who shares a compatible interest in games and humour.

I started semester two staying up until five in the morning. Lately, though, I’ve been falling in and out of consciousness at home. I do my homework and pretty much everything else whilst sitting on my bed. Even now, I’m typing this on my bed. When I pass out, I fall fast asleep on my bed. No one would notice it was an unintentional leave of soul from body. No one helps what everyone accepts. I shouldn’t be sleeping early and if you get the chance to see me fall asleep, I beg of you to wake me up.

Sometimes, though, I finish my homework at three in the morning, which is extremely early for me. At this point, however, my mind is so preoccupied with work that I just can’t sleep. I find my thoughts wandering from past mistakes to current dilemmas to future stressful situations. Sometimes I wonder about ghost and ghouls and terrifying evil. Sometimes, my mind is blank and there is no logical reason why sleep evades me.

This insomnia isn’t new. I had it in the past as well. I started this entry by telling you of my grade six problems. Truth is, this might have begun before that. My memory is heavily impaired and I can only remember back to grade six most of the times. It’s probably a traumatic effect of some sort.

How did I cope with not being able to sleep, you might ask? Alright, so maybe you didn’t ask, but I want you to. Go ahead; say aloud that question, just for the heck of it. I urge you.

Well, since you asked (or perhaps you didn’t because you’re bleh), I’ll gladly answer.

I was and still am under the impression that if one closes his or her eyes long enough, sleep will come. I know this is unreliable as, time and again, this proved false for me. In desperate times, what can you do but hope? And hope I did, dear readers. I hoped to sleep.

A curious thing that exists in our world is this phenomenon called temptation. Such a term is commonly defined as something that entices you to do something unwise.

The Bible has a few stories of creation, one being the famous couple of Adam and Eve. Adam, being the first and only man born, was lonely and longed for a companion. Eve was made from the ribs of Adam and give to the man as a partner. The two lived together in a beautiful garden given only one order: not to eat of the fruit at the center of the garden. Along came a serpent who tempted Eve to eat this fruit and consequently, Eve tempted Adam. The two therefore betrayed God in disobeying His only order, and both Adam and Eve were exiled from the garden. They were now knowledgeable of shame and possessed much of it. Giving into temptation was their demise.

Likewise, when I’m lying in bed with my eyes closed, I am tempted to open them. My main fear is that I’ll witness a ghastly face before me, but does such a visage exist in reality? I’m a very curious entity and despite the punishment, I do want to see this haunt before I die if I die by it. I know, however, that the moment I open my eyes, I’m just that much farther from sleep than when my eyes were shut.

I needed something to keep my eyes close, but I couldn’t do it by myself. Do you know what I did, dear readers?

“If I open my eyes, Calvin dies.”

I cannot even dream to count how many times I have said this.

Calvin was my first “crush” (oh, how I loathe such childish terms). I have mentioned him in other entries. In case you’re too time-restricted or lack the will to read my archives, I’ll willingly give you a brief description of the boy.

One day in second grade, Calvin indirectly confessed to me. Being only a second grader, I took his fondness for granted and returned my own liking for him generously. We would play together at every possible chance. He made me extremely happy... until he left. He was required to move schools due to circumstances I am still not aware of. I heard word he would return in grade six and so I saved my heart for him until then. By the time grade six came around, there was no Calvin, only a very disheartened Lucia.

But my heart remembers him even though my brain has fading memory. When I sleep, I dream and when I dream, my heart wins over my brain. Thus, by saying “If I open my eyes, Calvin dies,” it offers me an undesirable consequence to opening my eyes. Not only will I prevent my heart from travelling to the dream world, I also kill my first love.

Now, plenty of times before, I have regrettably forgotten this saying shortly after announcing it and opened my eyes. I haven’t seen Calvin since he left so many years ago. I pray he didn’t die because of this enchantment. Oh, dear God, please let him be living.

I have considered his death. For a few years, I did believe he might’ve died. Somehow, in his death, it lessened how betrayed I felt when I didn’t see him in grade six. I realize now that his life means more to me than just reviving a distant figure of the past. It means I have a chance to meet the first boy I ever opened myself up to, the first boy I ever considered to be of any worth, the boy who still holds a part of me with him anywhere he goes.

“If I open my eyes, Calvin dies.” But it wasn’t only Calvin. I had to switch characters as my heart has a tendency to jump from one crush to the next. I’ve decided that I’ve fallen (for like, never for love) for four male specimens, all of which have at least once before been cursed to aid my sleep.

“If I open my eyes, _______ dies.” How despicable of me to wager another’s life that is not my own in exchange for my physical wellbeing. How detestable, and yet I do it anyways. To this day, I revert back to this cry for help when I can’t sleep. That sums up my confession for this session.

If you ever need help getting to sleep, “if you open your eyes, I die.” Make it even for me, dear reader. Relieve me of my sins and I will evermore be in your favour.

It’s a little past quarter past two in the morning. I oughta wrap this entry up~! Thank you kindly for reading my words (even though they’re often nonsensical). I’ll see you again next entry, I hope.

Meanwhile, comment below the title and artist of this song and a reward shall be granted:
I took a little faith, and put it in a parking lot
I drove to a strange town, full of “have” and “have nots”
Yeah, and as I walk through that storybook life
I’ll be looking for an angel to chase the devil at night

My goodness, my computer just crashed. Thank the heavens for my foresight to save my progress up to this point.

Well, anyway, comment your response (either to the song excerpt or to the entry itself) below if you so wish! I’m also open to private messages if you really, really, really need to tell me something (as I know the commenting function isn’t always functional). Other than that, thanks again for reading and have an absolutely spectacular day! Or a blissfully pleasant night! Until next time~! yummy_smilies/icon_puddi.gif





 
 
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