Disturbed
It was the telephone’s persistant ringing that had awoken her this time… not the thoughts spiraling out of control in her mind, not a terrible nightmare, not a dark depression, but the damn phone. For the past month sleep had eluded her. ‘You failed that test’ voices in her head would taunt. ‘You messed up at practice,’ they’d sneer. Nightmares full of disappointed parents, past failures, and all of her shortcomings swirled around, making it impossible to close her eyes without getting an instant replay. Her shrink often said clinically depressed people slept constantly. He was a quack. Her depressions left her wide awake, dreading sleep and the self-defeating thoughts that came with it. She’d rather go on no sleep than see the horror her mind created behind closed lids.
The phone was still ringing, sounding more impatient by the minute. She stumbled down the hall, removing the hair elastic from her hair so her ponytail disappeared in a tumble of curls. She pulled the strap of her tank to up on her shoulder as she picked up the phone.
“Hello?” she muttered.
“Hey. Is Stan there?”
She sighed and raked her fingers through her hair, saying, “You’ve got the wrong number.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
She hung up the phone.
