Sleep is Summoning

By Katie Stringer

Bam! Once again I find myself the subject of an early morning attack. Spart, my eighteen pound goofball of a cat, has once again decided that my alarm was not early enough for him as he plops himself right on my face. “Spart… buddy… Can we not this morning? You know I went to bed late again.” I muffleout of my covered mouth as he just makes himself at home, curling up as if I do not need any oxygen. I scoop him up and set him next to me on a well placed pillowto help support my arms while I sleep. Turning to grab my phone and check the time. 7:42 am… Great another morning I could have slept in being taken from me. It’s Sunday and since I do not have to work today I prefer to spend my time sleeping in, grabbing a late morning coffee and sitting out by my deck looking at the backyard. You know that whole slow morning wake up routine that I am sure some bright eyed model does on social media. I am more of the sleep as late as possible then realize I have slept way too late, panic, and then have to rush on to whatever taskis at hand.

A paw lightly smacks at my face. “Fine, fine! I’m up. Let’s go.” Spart does a light meow in response and gets up doing a stretch as if he just awoke from a ten hour nap. I heave my body to a sitting position on the side of the bed. Mornings have seemed to become harder and harder to get up. I just want to stay in bed all day and sleep. Maybe I should look at getting one of those fancy work from home jobs where I can curl up under the blankets with a laptop and not even have to leave my bed.

I make my way into the kitchen, Spart is running circles under my feet. Making my way to where I keep the special wet food for him I almost trip and fall into the wall rounding the corner. He just looks at me with his big eyes as my life flashes before my own. I got a cat becauseI knew dogs had to be let out in the morning, but cats did not require as much morning care. But then of course I picked the one cat that loves to wake you up nice and early. To be honest I don’t know much about cats, Spart is my first cat. I have only had himfor a few months, he is a rescue I got on a whim at the animal shelter one weekend. I had driven out there just to look a bit,I had been thinking about getting a dog for a while. I needed a companion, the depression had gotten to be a bit much and my therapist suggested that maybea furry friend could help “give me purpose” or help me to “find a reason to get out of bed in the morning.” So what did I do? Went to the shelter and tried to get the pet that did not pull me out of bed in the mornings. Guess her plan backfired. At the shelter there was a cat room off to the side before you got to the dogs, since I wasn’t much of a cat person I figured I could go in there and look around before going to find the new fur-child that was to capture my heart. There was a small black and white kitten in one of the cages sitting level to my hip, he was so small and sweet. As I made my way walking through the cute little kitten turned into a damn monster and sliced the side of my arm with his claws. How does something so small cause such a stinging swell? After quickly pulling away from him, I came face to face with an older looking cat. He was a pretty orange and white, and seemed to just have eyes you could melt into. He looked at me and it was like all plans I had for myself changed, I knew at that moment I was going home with a cat. The tag on his kennel read “Breed: Maine Coon Mix, Age: about 5 years, Name: Spartacus.”

“Spartacus? A symbol for freedom are you?” I ask him as Ilean closer to the door of the kennel. “Okay, are you coming home with me? Helping me with my own freedom?… would you like that, Spartacus? That doesn’t seem to fit quite right… How about Spart?” A soft meow was all the confirmation I needed. I knew he was mine, his name is Spart, and I still knew nothing about cat care.

Spart’s tags clanking on the side of his bowl pulled me from my half sleep daze of memory lane. I made my way over to the coffee pot and began the morning routine.

Most of my days go the same, get up and feed Spart, make coffee, quickly get ready, go to work, come back home to cook dinner, clean up, watch some sort of show and go to bed. I live a fairly basic and boring life. On the weekends I sleep in, clean the house, and veg out on the couch while binging the latest reality TV show or crime documentary. Like I said, Basic. But lately, I have not felt like really doing even that. Cooking and cleaning have seemed like too much and I have switched to watching shows in my bed. I called out of work a few days ago and have taken to running through a drive-thru on the way home instead of cooking fresh meals. Slowly it seems like all I can do is barely pry myself out of bed, halfway do my job and then come home and crawl right back into bed. My bed has become my safe place, my sanctuary, the thing I look forward to all day and sink deeper and deeper into during the night. Apparently, I really need to call my therapist.

It’s been a few weeks now of spending every day laying in my bed. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I know I am depressed but this almost feels like more. It’s funny I feel like some sort of addict, all I want is my bed, all I think about is my bed, every second of every day I lay in my bed or I am counting down the seconds till I get back into bed. I am a bit ashamed to admit how long it has been since I have showered. Two weeks maybe? Yeah two… wait lets see. I look at my phone, avoiding the multiple missed calls and texts, social media notifications, and emails awaiting me. My phone reads June 3rd. Wait, how can it be June third?! It was just May 3rd a few days ago! How long have I been in bed?!? I take a look at my messages, I know my phone must be glitching out. I found a message from my mom “Hey sweetie, are you feeling any better? Your dad and I would love to see you! Spart is starting to think he lives here with us! HAHA It has been over a month now, let us know when you are ready for him back. Love you :)” The date reads June 2nd. I remember when things started to get harder I dropped Spart off at my parent’s house for them to look after him for the week. That was on April 29th. Has he been with my parents for over a month?

I pull myself up to the edge of the bed, it feels like thick ropes holding me down,my skin feels like it is stretching and pulling as I try to sit upright. I feel like a rat trapped to a glue pad, pulling and ripping my skin just in order to stand. Panic fills me as I slowly stumble to the bathroom. I grasp onto the sink, the gravity is so heavy standing up-right is impossible. I raise my head to look in the mirror and all I see is a sunken shell. My eyes blink to adjust as I stand in silence taking in the sight. A young woman with deep set eyes darkened with rings of blue staresback at me. My cheekbones are sharp and harsh, my face has no color with a grey hue covering it, and my stare is a blank expression disconnected from the rush of pure terror swelling inside of me. I begin to scream and sob with every cell in my body crying out, until I realize I have not moved, I have not blinked, I did not scream, I did not cry, I don’t think I even breathed. I just am.

My mind starts to flutter with panic trying to think what I should do. Wheredo I go? Who do I call? Can I even speak to tell them what is wrong? What is even wrong? What have I done to myself?! Before I can process it a feeling comes. This longing, craving, desperate urge, and excruciating ache from my core hits me. I need it… my bed.

Without even realizing I am moving back toward my bedroom. The draw is too much, My bed calls to me, luring me closer. I lay back down into the impression in the middle of the mattress where my body had laid. As I do, I am slowly consumed this time not just in the feeling but my whole body slowly goes deeper and deeper into the mattress, sinking down until I am no more.