who needs sleep?
You are still not convinced that any of this is real. Because, as friends are telling you that you should be 'experiencing fights with your other side' and you're not. Because this mysterious 'Thad Powers' isn't actually there. He's not talking, he's not fighting, and you're not hearing another voice in your head. So, this proves your theory that this whole thing isn't real. That Thad is just a figment of your imagination, a fever dream, letting you experience a life before you're really dead for good.

Because you keep thinking that you're apparently an asshole. That "facts are facts" and that "you don't really get a choice in it" and you're pissed at that. You're angry because every time you try to go to sleep, you wake up screaming. You go to sleep for thirty minutes before the memory kicks in, and you're telling Max to 'rot in hell' and he's shooting you in the head. You remember it as clear as day. It's there every single time you close your eyes, and nothing is telling you this is real. That this life you have, is real. No one can prove it. No one can make you feel anything. And now sleep is something you can't even do without screaming and having your heart rate go up -- and for someone with a faulty ticker, that's not a good sign. You really could go out again at any moment if your heart gives out. Or rather, the fever dream ends when your 'heart' gives out, and it all goes black, and you're back in the void. (Because the afterlife is awful, and you don't want to go back to that. But you don't want to be stuck in this awful purgatory either.)

But you're told you're "inside of a living, breathing man" and you call bullshit on that, because said 'man' hasn't said a fucking word since you woke up in this body. Someone somewhere is playing a sick fucking joke on you, because you were shot in the head and what, you're given a chance to see what your life would be like if you didn't fucking die before it's all ripped away from you? The fact that you're not given any apology, that you're not being listened to, that you're not being given proof. That apparently, you're a giant fucking asshole, because being here means the world is going to end if you stay, and you're an asshole because you don't want to deal with being 'brought back' from the dead. You're an asshole because they, she, he all mourned you. But there's no consideration to what you're dealing with. To what you're going through each and every time you try, just for a moment, to close your eyes.

Because you're still waking up screaming. You're still checking your head for blood and holes. You're still waking up in sweat and tears, because this is the hell that you're in now. Every single day that you're here is a fucking Hell, but hey. You're selfish, right? You should take that second chance!

But there's no 'Thad', even though you're told to keep 'him' safe, because 'Thad' doesn't exist. This is your body, not his. And you're stuck here, until you're finally given the chance to rest again. When things will just go black, and you'll fade away, and you won't be considered awful and selfish anymore because people mourned you. And it's when you find out from someone that recent confessions made to you, were not even from the person you thought they were from, you're even more angry. You don't care that you have some random guy's memories, and you feel his anger and hurt at the realization and news (is it possible to be second best to a side you don't even know?) and maybe that's why 'Thad' isn't showing up. Maybe you're not dead at all, you're just schizophrenic. That'd make more fucking sense than this.

Sleep would help. But sleep can't happen. So, you chug coffee to stay awake. You play video games with your feet over the back of the couch, your head hanging off the seat, playing upside down with your tongue sticking out, and try to concentrate on that. It's an empty feeling though. You try to focus on your friends, that try to explain things to you, but you're not getting the answers you want (because honestly, you're not even asking the questions, because...part of you is scared to know). You're pissed off. You're upset. Your head hurts. Your heart hurts. Emotionally, you're not sure what to feel. (This is the part where people would tell you that 'sex can fix anything', and sure, you'd be inclined to agree that a physical connection might help, but you're not sure that's wise.)

You keep trying to drift to sleep. You keep waking up, screaming.

A neighbor calls the cops on you, and the cops arrive. Once they realize that you're fine and that you're just suffering from insomnia, the cops nod. 'Try to get some sleep, sir, it will help you,' they say, almost condescendingly so, and you wonder why that's the apparent tone of the week. You're not accepting of what is going on, Ted, you're so obviously wrong, we can't help you.

So you drink more coffee. You watch history and science documentaries to keep your brain awake and interested. You refuse to sleep, and you're now practically drunk on how long you've been awake. Words are blending together, thoughts are blending together, you're blurting out things you don't mean to say. Not that it matters, right? This isn't real.

Sitting on the couch with a friend, you feel yourself start to doze off.

The gun is aimed, and it's fired,and you swear you can feel the bullet go straight through your skull.

Your eyes shoot open, and somehow manage to avoid screaming loudly, throwing your hands up quickly over your mouth.

If this is what "living" is like, then living -- life -- is Hell. And you're too afraid to admit it now.