Insects emerge from all corners of my room. They climb to the fourteenth floor, not through stairs. They don’t use the elevators. My doors are locked. Sealed tightly. I make sure of it. Instead, they slither up to my room through the outer walls of the building, and enter through my windows. I try not to leave it open, but I cave in once the oxygen has been spent and the air is littered with carbon dioxide. It is open now, as I write this letter to you. I don’t know what my aim is, nor do I know who this is aimed at. I have no recipient in mind. Perhaps I will throw this out the very window letting the insects in.
They keep me from falling asleep. The sounds of their slim legs tapping on the wooden desk, and the smell of their feces on my notebook. My delicate sweaters aid me greatly. They quieten the voices that would otherwise be too loud to tolerate. They climb up my legs and onto my torso, before reaching their destination. They enter my head through whichever path is most readily accessible. Ears, eyes, nose, mouth. Sometimes they carve new paths for themselves if the others are too full. I have difficulty hearing, and breathing. My nostrils are clogged. My mind is fogged. I can no longer see all the things looking back at me with disappointment and disgust. I can no longer recognize the man I see in the mirror. But he looks at me clearly. With his curved eyebrows and sharp gaze.
The insects allow me respite as I lie on my bed, with the soothing sounds of my favorite songs playing through my speaker that I desperately hold onto. It is what keeps the insects away. That along with my weighted blanket and my uncomfortable pillow. I have been meaning to buy new ones, though the path towards my door has become increasingly crowded. I don’t know when they will leave. I don’t know if they ever truly will.
I believe they have begun nesting within me, laying their offspring inside my warm blood and spacious skull. I have seen them enter yet never have I witnessed them leave. There must be a colony within me by now. Cockroaches, centipedes, and crickets. Crickets are loud. They remind me of their presence throughout the night. I have seen doctors, I have consulted with friends and family. This is something that none other can understand. Not even you. You might act like you relate to me. Might display sympathy. You don’t know half of it. Maybe one day I will send some your way. Take handfuls off my floor and dispatch them within the many boxes I have on top of my wardrobe. Maybe then you will help me exterminate them.
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