The Nightmare Called Fear

I am scared to go to sleep.

My thoughts chase me, take me down, consume me. I run, but they catch up. They tear me down, rip me to shreds, leave me on a dark alleyway, lit only by a single streetlamp. Enveloped in fog, I lay on the pavement, in a puddle of blood, as I take labourious breaths.

My thoughts kill me.

I can only run so far, so fast before they catch up to me. And they jump on me, digging their claws into my flesh.

Tearing.

Is it the thoughts that I fear, or is it the fear that I am thinking? Am I really scared of my thoughts, or is my fear of something else what causes the thoughts in the first place? What came first, the fear or the thoughts?

Either way, I’m tired. I’m exhausted. But I’m scared to go to sleep. I’m scared that when I close my eyes, I will be chased again. I’m scared my thoughts will send me down the rabbit hole, spinning, falling, down and down.

My genes surround me in this hole.

The strands of DNA wrap themselves around me, tighter, tighter, until my fingertips turn blue. Breathing is difficult. The strand of genetic code surrounds me, tightly wrapped up by an enormous black widow spider. The DNA is her web, her silk, and I am now rendered immobile by the smooth strand of nucleotides.

My genes kill me.

The death is inevitable, for what else can follow life? But it’s caused by the mistakes in the blueprint, the accidental substitutions, deletions and additions that have added up to a broken building. There is no concrete that can fix it, no spackle can repair these walls. It is the house that I’m forced to live in, this broken building, with its crumbling foundation and shattered windows.

One day, this house will fall down.

Because exhaustion has taken over. I pray that my thoughts don’t chase me tonite.

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