The Private Memoirs of the Sleep Deprived
1 DAY AFTER
I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I-
My eyes feel heavy but I still can’t sleep. My heart seems to be pulling me down with the weight of what I’ve done, as if some punishment from the universe.
Karma, I guess.
The wound is still fresh and I don’t know how to move on from this. It seems so big. So consuming.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Never enough apologies.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
It doesn’t make it go away. It never makes it to away. I just want it to go away.
7 DAYS AFTER
This is difficult. I’m sleeping again so that’s something. Sort of a blessing and a curse really. On the one hand it’s so relieving to sleep, to be unconscious and free for a few hours. Of course you’re never really free and it still finds a way to get a hold of you. Recently it’s been in my dreams. Last night it was me in this room, no room in particular, no room I’ve ever been in. And you. You’re in this room with me. And I start running towards you but I never get any closer. You stay the same distance away no matter how fast I run or how long I run for. I never reach you. Then there’s this part I don’t remember then I’m inside this- never mind.
I’ve been having this dream a lot.
I miss you. I hope you know that. I miss you more than anything. I know you don’t understand. It’s hard to understand. Apologies are all I can say to ease the guilt and the sorrow keeps pouring out of my mouth, each sorry more sincere than the last. Choking down the metallic taste.
43 DAYS LATER
I did this for you. I know it doesn’t seem like it and I know it hurt you like hell, which is why I feel so guilty. But I promise it’s what’s best for you. I care about you more than anything, more than myself, that’s why I did it. You deserve someone better than me. Someone who can do right by you. That’s not me. Truth be told, that’s never been me. You might never forgive me and I accept that. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive me either. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.
365 DAYS LATER
It’s been exactly one year. I remember that day with crystal clarity. I still miss you. I sort of hope you miss me too but that’s selfish of me – the whole reason I did this was to save you from suffering. I hope I did the right thing. I hope to God I did the right thing.
665 DAYS LATER
I still hear you sometimes. And the sound scalds like hot water. It wasn’t really you. It’s never really you. But I still think it’s you. Every time. I wonder how you’re getting on. I hope it’s well. I still miss you. I’m still so sorry.
805 DAYS LATER
Still missing you. So sorry. Still so sorry.
N. Morton
I wanted to focus on the theme of guilt which was present in both texts, especially Hogg’s where there was so remorse for a terrible crime. The title is based on Hogg’s most famous story. I wanted to focus on the idea that there are some things that you can never forgive yourself for and how guilt can follow you your whole life and also affect your sleeping patterns.
A Family Hold
We have always been a family
that holds on to things.
We find it hard to let things go.
For generations we keep family heirlooms
A handmade patchwork quilt.
A quilt with history in every stitch.
A long held tradition.
The further back you delve
the more information you learn
that would perhaps prove that
ignorance is bliss.
We have always been a family
that holds on to things.
Heirlooms and histories and traditions
rarely riches.
My father was a businessman
His father a lieutenant
And his father,
a slave trader.
Dealing in tragedy.
I suppose they all did.
We have always been a family
that holds on to things.
Our family was built on the slave trade.
Warping and wefting our stories.
Giving us the cotton that allowed us to celebrate the stories of their capture.
The textile used to tell the text.
The slaves gave us everything.
Down to the cotton thread pulling us together
and ripping them apart.
N. Morton
I drew inspiration for his piece from the exhibition at the university which largely spoke about how no one in our country can escape the horrors of slavery and how this was especially prevalent in James Hogg’s life. I wanted to focus on the fact that many slaves picked cotton when cotton seems like such a soft gentle fabric, it was actually harvested through the brutality and horror of slavery.
