"Mama, I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say. Mother shook her head and chuckled. "Don't worry. It's all in your head, sweetie." She tucked me in, kissed my forehead and laid beside me until I fell asleep. I was four.
"Mama, I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say. Mother shook her head and sighed. "There aren't any monsters. It's all in your head." She tucked me in, kissed my forehead then went to bed. I was ten.
"I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say. Mother would leave the room without saying a word. I never saw her much after that. I was fourteen.
"I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say. No one would listen. "It's your head," the doctors would say. Nurses gave me pills to help me fall asleep. I was seventeen.
"I can't slee-" They wouldn't let me finish my sentence. Nurses rushed in to strap me into the bed. They injected something into my arm to make me fall asleep. I never made it to eighteen.