I should really go to bed…..but I can’t. I know that as soon as I fall asleep something horrible will happen and I’ll think it’s real and start to panic. I hate sleeping. It’s not like I can tell my mom why I hate sleeping, or why I hate a lot of things. She wouldn’t understand, in fact, I think I just make her sad. Sometimes I think she blames herself for what happened to me, but I don’t blame her. So, I keep everything to myself until I see my therapist. Not that I like talking to him. Talking to someone that gets payed to listen offers me little comfort. I would rather talk to my cats, at least I know they truly care. I used to talk to my sister before she moved to New York, she’s probably the most understanding person in my family. But now I don’t want to impose on her life and I don’t want to seem totally insane to her fiance. So I’ve decided that instead of voicing my problems, I’ll type them. I’ve always had trouble talking about serious problems face to face with someone, so this seems like the best way.