These days, I get more sleep when I’m awake. With eyes closed, I’m helpless to fear. There’s no escape from the gnawing anxiety and I have to rationalize it or else it would eat me alive.

It grows in darkness and I imagine that it’s like a twisted Chia Pets commercial. Frame after frame of animated letters. A-A-A-Anxiety. The more that I think about it, the bigger that it gets. Except it’s not a cute little plant of a dog or a cat. It’s a nightmare.

Time passes by and I’ve lost count of the little, white sheep that I’ve been assigning numbers to. My head pounds, my body tenses and I don’t bite my nails but if I did, I would rip them off.

Instead, I tell myself to breathe. Wait. Only 8 hours to go.

7 hours.
6 hours.
5 hours.
4 hours.
3 hours.
2 hours.
1 hour.

Finally, the alarm rings a hideous sound that makes me want to slam it against a wall. It’s agony, but a reprieve from the torture nonetheless.

Opening my eyes is the only rest I can get.