Feb 21
Summit House-WCS's picture

The Sleepwalker

“Misha, Misha!”
    That’s the only thing I hear, but I already know what happened. I open my eyes and see my sister in front of me, in her nightgown. She looked worried. I look around and see street lamps, houses and parked cars. 
    This time was really bad. I’d gone all the way outside into the street. “It’s fine,” I say. With a feeling of dread, I turn around and go back inside to my room. 
    It’s never easy to fall back asleep after I sleepwalk, but I take a deep breath and lay in bed, trying to remember anything. Like always, nothing comes to me. I only remember seeing the horrible expression my sister had on her face. I wish she hadn’t shaken me awake. The doctors say it’s better for me to be guided back to my bed. 
    At this point it’s become normal, easy to cope with. I go to bed hoping that tonight it will be different, my sister shakes me awake, or my mom leads me back to my room and sits with me the whole night. We’ve gotten used to it, but there’s always so much worry in all of us. Worry that something terrible will happen. Worry that my mom and sister won’t hear any feet going down the wooden staircase, and won’t wake up to stop me. So far they’ve never not heard me. But it’s getting worse. I’ve gone outside before while sleepwalking, but never into the middle of the street. 
    I try to swerve my thoughts away from my sleepwalking issues, and eventually I lose consciousness, and I fall into a deep sleep. 
    I wake up in horrible pain. I feel a throbbing in my head. It’s nearly impossible to open my eyes, so I don’t. I begin to hear the sounds around me, and I feel everything touching me. I’m laying on a bed, but it’s not my own bed. I can hear my mom. She’s talking to someone. I hear sniffling in the corner. I still have no idea where I am or what’s going on.  
    “She just has a slight concussion. I do recommend her taking some medicine, and going to therapy. And it’d be much safer to have someone monitor her while she sleeps,” 
    Now I know where I am. 
    I force my eyes to open. I’m immediately blinded by all the bright lights in the white hospital room. 
    “Misha?” A nurse in the room says to me, “How are you feeling?”
    I give no response. I’m in too much pain. I look at my mom, hoping for help, or an explanation of what happened. 
    The nurse steps up to the side of my bed and consoles, “Misha, you jumped off your porch. Your mother found camera footage of you. It looks like you walked out of bed and went straight to the porch. You then swung over the railing and jumped. Your sister heard, and ran outside then called 911. You’ll have lots of bruises and pain for a few days, but the only bad damage done was a grade three concussion. You will recover, but I’ve spoken with your mom and we think you should start some therapy for the sleepwalking. We don’t want anything severe to happen again. I’m so sorry about this.”
    I don’t say anything. I don’t feel anything. I can barely even think. I’m in terrible shock. I can’t believe that I jumped off my porch, while sleepwalking. 
I’m not going to be able to sleep again.