r/testimony_
In order for you to understand my testimony, know that I suffer from sleep disorders.
Melodies found their way to me, stealing me away from my realm of sleep, a recurring phenomenon that I attributed to my tendency to doze off wearing my wireless headphones. Perhaps a minor inclination, but one I cherished nonetheless.
When my eyelids finally lifted, I searched for the switch in my room, revealing a chaotic panorama. The sheets, like a meticulously arranged puzzle, seemed to offer the possibility that my misplaced headphones and phone would resurface in broad daylight. A futile fervor.
Deciding to escape, I plunged the room into darkness, without any ambition to rival the extravagances of a Versailles-like palace. But a thermal change greeted me as I entered the living room. The bay window, that link to my balcony, was wide open despite the late hour (half-past midnight, according to the starry chime). The music, the pretext for my untimely awakening, slipped out from it. My impatience grew, fueled by the concern that my neighbors, exhausted by my nocturnal symphonies, were forced to endure.
And there, on that shadow-drenched balcony, lay my possessions: phone and headphones. However, their arrangement defied all common sense. My device lay in the gap between the balcony and the abyss, a disaster narrowly averted with audacity. Although the device fought valiantly, the screen bore the scars of the incident.
I silenced this intrusive music. With difficulty.
Guilt weighed on me like an unrelenting vise, squeezing my heart and choking me slowly. My once-steady hands now trembled slightly, revealing my chaotic inner state. My gaze avoided, refusing any visual contact with the objects bearing witness to my balcony blunder. Every corner of the room seemed to silently judge me, reminding me of my negligence.
My uncertain steps in the hallway were accompanied by a stiff and jerky gait, as if my legs refused to move in harmony with my tormented mind. I paused at times, pressing my sweaty palms against the wall, trying to calm the storm of thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.
In the hallway mirror, my reflection betrayed my anxiety. Dark circles had formed under my eyes, evidence of restless nights spent ruminating on my mistakes. My shoulders were slightly hunched, as if the invisible weight of my fault was pushing them toward the ground.
When I entered the living room again, the actions to turn off the music were clumsy, almost desperate. My fingers slid over the buttons, my movements becoming jerky and rushed. Each sound of a pressed button was like an echo of my own helplessness.
Every breath I took was short and abrupt, as if the air itself refused to support me. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat resonating in my temples. I felt trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape from, my own demons chasing me at every corner of the room.
When the unbearable burden of guilt hurriedly falls onto my shoulders, a vital urgency pushes me to evaporate. It’s this small tacit agreement with my therapist, a lifeline to grasp when the waves threaten to engulf me. Outside, I have to be more than just a shadow, face reality head-on, in case I sink into the depths. It’s perhaps my distress call, in one way or another.
So, I step outside, one foot in front of the other, a boulevard to climb, along the Scarpe River. Then, a right turn lifts me onto the winding path of the shore. And there, that’s where I mess up everything. Someone, something, is there. In the rearview mirror of my memory, I guess it was an old woman, from a bygone era, but under the moonlight, in this state of agitation in the background, my brain warps and transforms her into a damn venerable witch.
It scared the hell out of me, so I turned around, feet in hands. My return dragged on like an additional ball of guilt: I knew it was pure paranoia, a shameless distortion of reality, and now, all the damn explanations I could come up with won’t change a thing.
Even if I had exchanged a few words with the old hag, the idea of being confined to a psychiatric ward rings hollow. I’m of legal age and sound mind, after all. I have to accept, or rather, take responsibility for the choices that come with it.
I struggled immensely to go back to bed.