Age: 1
I screamed. I screamed. I didn’t know where this noise was coming from; I didn’t understand what it meant. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t do anything, so I just screamed.
tick, tick, tick
My mother barely slept anymore.
Age: 2
Nothing felt real. Was I sleeping? Was I awake? Was it normal for a child my age to drift off randomly and basically dream away the day?
tick, tick, tick
It was like a haunting lullaby, constantly echoing in the back of my head. I heard it inside my dreams, outside of my dreams. It terrified me.
Somehow, my mother finally understood what brought me all these sleepless nights and restless days. God knew how she figured it out without me ever telling her.
But one day, the clock from the wall of my room vanished.
It was blissful. I felt awake, and I was able to sleep.
Age: 3
I was too young to comprehend what the term divorce meant. One day, I woke up and saw my father crouching down on the living room floor, packing boxes.
I didn’t ask what was happening; I didn’t even really care.
My gaze was transfixed on the watch he had on his wrist, the barely audible noise making me feel dizzy.
tick, tick, tick
I cried a lot that day, and my mother thought it was because I wouldn’t see my father anymore.
Age: 5
By now, analog clocks ceased to exist in my life. Mother had replaced them all with digital clocks, and I successfully avoided the ticking noises in kindergarten as well.
Life didn’t feel weird anymore.
Until the nightmares began.
Once again, I was lying on my bed in the room. The darkness around me felt so heavy and suffocating that I needed to escape, to leave this room and find my mother.
I wanted to call out for her, but no sound left my parched throat.
Somehow, I managed to crawl out of bed, trying to reach the door, where the light from the hall seeped into my room ever so slightly.
But my body felt too heavy. I was so, so slow. I could barely even breathe as panic shot through me like ice and fire simultaneously.
It must’ve been hours when I finally managed to grip the wooden door, knowing I was finally safe.
My eyes fell on the digital clock sitting on a drawer.
33:33
I felt horrible.
But I woke up the next morning in my bed, as if I had never left it.
Age: 9
While it scared me, I somehow came to understand that it was something like a superpower. Of course, I knew that 33:33 wasn’t a real time - but whenever I saw a digital clock in my nightmares, I felt that it was just a dream. That I’d be waking up.
The fact that it happened every. Single. Night…
It didn’t bother me much anymore.
Age: 10
My mother and I ended up adopting a cat. His name was Kimba - a beautiful Siamese cat with blue eyes that were more loving than any touch could be.
He was my best friend. Always sleeping next to me on my pillow, purring like crazy whenever you just looked at him.
I didn’t need anyone else, or anything else. This cat was my sanctuary.
Age: 11
A pitiful meow woke me up in the middle of the night. Kimba wasn’t next to me - but the noise came from somewhere in the kitchen.
Maybe his bowl was empty, I thought. He’d come back soon.
But Kimba kept meowing.
And it wasn’t the usual sounds he made. His voice seemed more…scratchy. Strained. As if he was scared, or in pain. Maybe even both.
Hastily, I stumbled out of bed into the kitchen. My eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly.
I don’t know why I never turned on the lights.
Kimba was there though, in the middle of the kitchen, meowing into the darkness. My hands grabbed him gently, wanting to pick him up and bring him back to bed with me.
But the stickiness of his fur made me stop.
The stench of blood let nausea rush through my guts.
Why was he bleeding?
Panic made me lift him into my arms, and despite the tears already blurring my vision, my eyes fell on the burning red numbers right in front of me.
33:33
The time mocked me.
Age: 12
Kimba died.
Age: 13
Nothing felt real. Was I sleeping? Was I awake? Was it normal for a teenager my age to just doze off randomly and dream away the day?
33:33
Age: 14
My mother sent me to a psychiatric hospital, where I started to talk about my fear of clocks for the very first time.
Two months passed in a blur; no one could help me, no one understood me.
Age: 19
Nothing felt real. Was I sleeping? Was I awake? Was it normal for an adult my age to just doze off randomly and dream away the day?
An unseen force kept me on my feet as I walked through the darkness. The cold tiles under my feet told me that I was in my apartment - the feeling was familiar.
tick, tick, tick
I didn’t own any clocks that could make such a noise. But the floor seemed to swallow me and the ticking hurt my head.
My eyes fell on the small numbers of the microwave.
33:33
Please stop…
Age: 21
Maybe I was getting a grip on myself again.
Life wasn’t the best, but it was okay. I was able to make friends, create memories. I was trouble for my mother, but it could’ve been worse.
I went to therapy regularly.
Until one night, where I woke up on my stomach, my eyes staring blankly into the darkness.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move.
Red numbers on the nightstand were laughing at me.
33:33
But I didn’t wake up.
Age: 24
The dreams had stopped. I couldn’t even tell exactly when, how, or where, but they stopped.
I was finally able to breathe again. Life felt real, life felt good, I managed to exist amongst others and actually notice them.
Mother told me it had all been just a phase.
I laughed, I cried, I experienced.
Age: 25
After moving cities, I found a new therapist. Even though I wasn’t having any more issues, I still needed someone to talk to.
Maybe I was just trying to finally make someone understand my irrational fear of clocks.
When I entered her office, I was immediately greeted by that noise, but I smiled it away nervously.
tick, tick, tick
“Can we maybe put that clock away?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly, but otherwise, I kept myself in check.
My therapist obliged for now.
Age: 26
She understood. Unlike others who had only looked at me strangely and told me that it was ridiculous, that I was just still struggling from my parents divorce.
She actually understood my carnal fear and allowed me to talk about the dreams I had as a teenager without any judgment.
So I kept going there.
And I thought, maybe - just maybe - life was actually going to be great.
I stopped looking at the time, consciously at least, and clocks didn’t bother me anymore. Not the ticking, nothing.
Somehow, I was just going through the motions - as I had always done. At least, I felt awake, though.
Age: 27
But when you never looked at the time…when you never felt the continuous ticking noises that follow you through life till the day you die…is it actually real?
The sun rises and sets, humanity walks and breathes.
I wondered if linearity was real.
Age: ???
“I don’t think you have to come here that often anymore,” my therapist said while looking at the small calendar in her hands, flipping through the pages. “Maybe another appointment in three weeks? To see if that’s enough for now?”
I smiled.
She was right, maybe.
I felt good.
Taking out my phone to save the appointment, for once, I couldn’t avoid looking at the time.
I didn’t feel good.
Why?
Why? Why?