I don’t want to go to sleep.

Recently time has been slippery. It twists and turns at the edges, leaving me unsure of where I’m standing. I only have the most tentative grip on what day it is and sometimes I’m caught by surprise. Day after day melds into the last, punctuated only by sleep and food and going to the bathroom.

Sometimes I forget there’s a world outside my flat because I rarely see it. It catches me by surprise the rare times I remember to go outside. When I peer through the peephole in my door it’s a shock that anything exists beyond.

Last week I needed more medication. It took me days, separated by a weekend, to manage to make an appointment. I complained about being tired all the time. We talked about my medication. He told me there was nothing he could do about the fact I’m tired. Then he offered me a flu jab.

The pharmacy was out of my medication, so I said I’d go back the next day, but I was drowsy and everything hurt. I made it the day after that, five minutes before they closed.

I forget if I’ve taken them or not. Time slips away so I’m not sure how often I’m taking them.

I missed two massive deadlines. I might have failed my course and I’m definitely  not going to University next year. I didn’t notice where the deadlines where until they were right on top of me.

I let everyone down. So many people encouraged me. My favourite lecturer wrote beautiful things about me because she believes in me. Maybe I’m not worth belief.

I hate being asleep. It feels so heavy and dark I might as well be dead.

Last night I considered killing myself. There’s this portion of time between doing things and being asleep that’s dangerous. I think it’s why they say night time is always the worst.