The Fear of Sleeping

It's hard to imagine. What has just happened. After telling my folks earlier this morning briefly what happened, my body just shut down. I didn't want to talk anymore and I just collapsed on my bed. I felt kind of bad that I couldn't console them. I felt bad that I couldn't reassure them that I was okay. I just had nothing left. I just thanked Macker, gently hugged my folks, gingerly peeled off my clothes and went to bed.

I slept, but it was fitful sleep. I awoke with a jolt, remembering vividly the crash. It's hard to shake that image, that feeling, that loss of control. I tried to push it out of my dreams, my thoughts, but it was futile. My brain was trying to put together the puzzle, even though the rest of me didn't want to play anymore.

I will admit to not having a disciplined mind. I cannot focus. But the inability to shake these frightening thoughts out of my head was sheer torture. It's kind of like that mental game you play where you dare someone not to think of pink elephants. And of course, all you can do is think of pink elephants. Stupid Dumbo.

The scariest feeling for me is those few seconds before I drift off to sleep when my consciousness can no longer maintain itself. Just as I feel myself wander into dreamland, an extreme sense of panic overtakes me and I find myself waking up again.

I am afraid to fall asleep. I fear crashing again. Somehow my head equates sleeping with crashing. I guess Pavlov got it right.

I hope this doesn't last. I don't want to be scarred. Especially just as my old ones are healing.

My body hurts all over, and I have a perma-headache. I don't want to be here right now. I guess it's better than not being here.