Three hours of sleep and I feel fine. Well, not that fine. I’m not tired, just sad. I don’t like the idea of waking up sometimes, another day, another life. I spent the night gaming, what else? I haven’t felt like myself for a while, like something’s brewing. I’ve not been enjoying things like I used to, but I’ve been enjoying my music. Sometimes I find myself frantically dancing round my room, except I’m also crying. I can’t tell what I’m feeling. I feel like a volatile volcano, bubbling and spitting. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I spent it dancing and listening to music. I stare at a piece of paper, I’m trying to find God. Maybe the less sleep I have, the more I’ll know. Logic blocks the truth sometimes, and the less sleep I get the less logic I feel. I write God in the middle of my dog eared paper. I stare at it for hours with no thoughts. It’s amazing how empty your head can get, except it’s not empty. It’s this hybrid of nothing and everything. My head is running at a hundred miles an hour, except I can’t decipher what any of the thoughts say. That scares me. I don’t sleep again. It’s been so long since I slept. When I look in the mirror, I can’t recognise myself. Nothing new. Except my reflection anchors me for the first time ever. Almost if I didn’t check the mirror, my reflection might run away. I can’t understand my thoughts at all. Like watching a river but not hearing the rush of water. It’s confusing, dazing. I feel impossibly weak, I can’t lift my head or arms. I begin to speak aloud to understand what is happening. I mutter under my breath, people eying me like I’ve finally lost it. Maybe I have. I’ve still not found God, my page still empty. I dance for hours, my face the picture of agony. I keep hearing voices from far away, I’m not sure whether I’m imagining it or if it’s just the people upstairs. I don’t know what the point is any more. To see whether I can stay awake? To find God? To decipher my deepest thoughts? It’s futile either way. At this this point, I’m not sure whether I want to ever sleep again. I feel sick and scared, slow and empty. My reflection laughs back at me, it speaks to me with gentle words and reassures me I’m not dead. It tells me to sleep, I will. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but when it does it hits like a truck. When I awake I am returned to normal, my thoughts easy and distinguishable. Makes you wonder what reality really is, if such a thing can be so distorted.