Sleeping is for wusses

It's 7 a.m. and I've another sleepless night behind me.

I try to reason with the irrational feeling of bricks falling on my head, but all of my efforts are for nothing. There is no sense to it and yet some kind of twisted logic I can't seem to defeat.

I am grateful only that the mad machine driving this particular bout with insomnia and serious anxiety does not last longer than it does. Otherwise I might spiral into another full-blown episode. As it stands, I am figuring that my current disorder is finite in time. I anticipate relief in mid-November, providing that it doesn't fuck things up for me so thoroughly that I have to go through this nightmare again. That idea makes me want to drown in a pool full of pills.

Happy thoughts for a monday morning.