I am tired.  I live in a perpetual state of sleep deprivation.

get more sleep... that's the recommendation.  

Sure.  No problem.  As if I enjoy defying sleep patterns.  I don't stay up all night having a party by myself.  I stay awake because it's terrifying to sleep.

I close my eyes.  I feel my head on the pillow; my hands touch the sheets.  It's dark and my heart starts to pound.  The bed begins to spin.  My head screams and my chest aches as I wait.  Wait for nothing.  I am waiting for a man who lives on so vividly in my mind.  Wait for the night where he does not appear.

I know that a few hours a night isn't good.  It's also not good to sleep in the corner on the floor.  I do both with freakish mastery.  

I go through periods of time where I can tolerate sleeping in a bed.  But I can't stomach it right now.  My anxiety is racing. Corners are safe.  And the floor isn't a bed.

Bad things happen on beds.

After a few hours of hard fought sleep... I am awake as he approaches in the dark.  I stand and slip out of the room. I turn on the lights as the man begins to fade.  He wishes me good night and with a wink he tells me he will see me soon.

I clean.  I read.  I write.  I draw.  I make coffee and pretend that I haven't been up all night.  The early light melts the terror as dreadful relief lets me know another night has passed with a new day on the brink.

My eyes are clouding with that familiar ache.  A dark periphery is depression's single warning.  I fight to keep my eyes open; to keep my vision clear.  But heavy eyelids pull the sadness in as I contemplate... **Sleep.