happiness liking life

Will I Ever Be Able to Sleep Again?

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When I was a kid, my dad would rub my head, pulling my hair back and down until I fell asleep. As an adult, I count sheep, calm my breathing, and think of happy places until I am void of happiness.

One hour, two, three, even four of telling myself sleeping shouldn’t be this hard. Sleeping should be bliss; it should be one thing I can look forward to after a long day of nothing but stress.

Sheep have too many details that I map out and analyze. Calming my breathing leads to shaky inhaling on the verge of crying, and happy places do nothing when they are all grim and bleak.

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