Sleep. Elusive sleep. It slithers around my throat tightening its grip. Forcing my eyes to sag. It drags me under as I desperately cling to consciousness. I claw at the edge of the void trying desperately yet fruitlessly because I am ripped from my realty and into the unknown. No. Not the unknown but rather the hideous crevices of my mind. I am slammed up against the wall chackled to my Id. I can hear the heavy, dragging footsteps of my repressed memories. My captors are my past. They are the pain I felt. They loom over me and suddenly I feel as if my reality is shattered and I’m back with him. I scream as I feel the bruises materialize to their old homes. I cry out as my skin splits itself open again old faded scars reinvigorated with the flow of blood across my skin. I curl into a ball questioning if the sweet release of morning wil ever come... Then I feel your hands. It makes me sick. those tools of torture that stripped me of my sanity and self worth. Those big grimy ******* hands that tore away parts of me piece by piece until all I was was afraid. Even now he’s controlling my future a puppet master of malicious intent. I want to cry. I want to scream. But mostly I just want to me okay again. I curl up into a ball and pray for morning. And when it comes I claw my way into reality. I wake up afraid and dead inside. I wake up having lost all the progress I have so tediously made. Sleep. My advisory in mental health heals my fatigue. Like some sick paradox. Sleep, oh how I hate you!! I guess I’ll see you tonight.