Why I Hate Sleeping

When I tell people I hate sleeping, they are generally shocked by this confession. And to be fair, I can see where people are coming from. Our society and societies around the world love sleep. A time to rest, relax, and dream of new worlds. People find sleep to be one of the few undisputed pleasures this world has to offer, but I don't experience sleep as much of the population may seem to.

For me, sleeping is a curse. I despise sleeping so much; a bizarre necessity our species requires to live. A ritual we as humanity participate in, believing it to be the answer to our exhaustion. For me, going to bed and closing my eyes is to invite malice into my mind and letting the demons that haunt me run absolutely wild.

I do dream, but it is not a dream as some of you know, where happiness and benevolence grace your minds; no, my mind twists the world I know. I fear what I will see when I shut my eyes, because what I do experience are nightmares so real and terrifying. I sometimes wake up into an anxiety attack. My heart palpitating and unable to breathe. It is these things that keep me up at night, fearing what sort of twisted scenarios I will be put through, never knowing if my greatest fears will be there waiting for me, or some God forbidden terror awaits me in the darkness as I sleep into another nightmare to unfold. People go to the movies to be scared. I simply go to sleep, hoping that another day goes by where I remember nothing.

The nightmare I will admit to is one of absolute fear. I was sitting in the park enjoying the sun, fresh air, and sounds of peace. I got up to leave when a massive earthquake shook the ground below me as I stumbled to stand. As I fell to my knees, I looked up to see a woman in a burning red dress and brown stilettos walking from behind a tree upon children who were scared. With the stretch of her arm and the evil in her eyes, she burned all those children alive in front of me. I can hear their screams as I type this, the smell of burning flesh, the despair I felt as I knelt in fear of something personifying evil. I still cry for those kids, even though I know they were never real, unlike the emotions and grief I feel.

That is why I hate dreaming; because I may end up in those situations; powerless, despair, fear.

I woke up sweating and terrified. Only then did I realize it was all a nightmare. But it was more than that...it was my fear on another level. A monster disguised as a beautiful woman brought me to my knees as I bore witness to a genocide. It was traumatic, to say the least. The worst part? I did it to myself. And I don't know how to make the nightmares stop.

So for those of you who do enjoy sleep—the peace and tranquility that this ritual has to offer to you I envy, because you get to see the ones you want to, spend time as you have not before. Maybe like a vacation you indulge yourself in. For me, that is not a reality I live in. It is an ever losing battle I face against the darkest depths of my mind, torturing me for some unknown reason. Is there a purpose? My answer is no. Sleep is nothing but a curse, and one I am forced to sleep with.