Dear Diary,
At precisely 3:00 a.m., I surrendered to the bed (my battlefield of dreams )believing, foolishly, that sleep would come.
It did not.
It is now 5:00 a.m., and I lie here, eyes wide open, And now my desk lamp.My last beacon of light in this endless void has perished.
It refuses to turn on, cold and lifeless, like the dreams I once had of rest.
Now I sit, bathed in darkness, eyes twitching, brain buzzing, teetering on the edge of reality.
Sleep mocks me from afar, a cruel lover I can never hold.
I think I’m going nuts.
And yet, I must stand before my professor and colleagues —smile, talk, pretend like I didn't just wrestle with the void all night.
This is no longer just a lack of sleep. This is performance art.
I’m eyeing the migraine pills like they’re some kind of forbidden potion. I know they’ll dull the pain just enough to let me shuffle through this presentation like a half-dead wizard. Not thriving—just surviving.
I’ve pulled all-nighters before, sure. But those were for exams—noble battles, fought with coffee and existential dread. This? This is for a presentation. A few slides. Some talking. Possibly a nervous breakdown disguised as a Q&A session.
This isn’t academia. This is punishment.
If I collapse mid-sentence, at least it’ll be memorable.
5:28 am I swear, I am dying to sleep. Like, if Sleep were a person, I’d run into its arms sobbing like a war bride in a tragic romance film. My body is yawning involuntarily now, like it’s trying to stage a peaceful protest against my life choices.
And I can’t wait for this semester to end All I can think about is getting back to my parents’ home that sacred land of proper meals, functioning lamps, and a bed that doesn’t feel like it holds a personal grudge. I crave it the way poets crave tragedy. The moment I walk through that door, I will collapse like a Victorian child returning from the coal mines.
5:29 am Farewell for now I am going to get ready for university
Yours in desperate exhaustion,
The insomniac human