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The self-fulfilling prophecy comes true once again. I had managed to finally coax myself into sleeping, confident that my unbearable curse would finally cease its cruel, unusual need to torture my very existence.
You see, I'm a victim of Somniphobia, meaning I fear the very thing that countless others around the world rely on to refresh themselves every day. As irrational as it may seem to the outside perspective, I fear sleeping.
The simple knowledge that, once I fall asleep I've lost any control over something as valuable and personal as my very actions, terrifies me. Sleep is almost identical to death as well, a concept that I can't remove from my mind, no matter how hard I try. Even worse: I've been prone to sleepwalking for years.
Once I was fully enthralled in my dreams, I began to feel that familiar sensation; That overwhelming sense that something other than myself was in control of my body's actions.
I encounter this commotion, this mental conflict, far more often than I experience successful nights of sleep, and yet, I react the same way every single time:
My heart begins to race and my dreams become very radical, picturing either my imminent demise due to my lack of control, or even the "creatures" that my subconscious associates as the thieves of my bodily dominance.
Unbeknownst to my subconscious brain at the time, my sleepwalking had brought all the way to the stairs, familiar territory for the tyrant of my gray matter.
My already panicking neurons feel my body take the first step down the stairs, and that's when the worst part always happens, they light ablaze in an events that feels painful without causing any actual harm.
I skip past any state of grogginess instantaneously, the sheer shock to my system waking my conscious, and I realize that my terrible curse has once again struck. Needless to say, I didn't get any rest that night...
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