Dear Wigleaf,

I'm writing to you at three in the morning.

I'm afraid of sleeping, or rather, I'm afraid of needing to sleep and being unable to. My fear of sleeplessness keeps me up at night.

Sleep must be conjured like a demon. All day I pursue rituals which, if performed correctly, will result in slumber. My mind must be perfectly relaxed, my body tired but not exhausted. If I have coffee too late, or read before bed, or forget to meditate, my careful preparations go out the window. Then I will lie in bed, restless, and the dreaded recitation begins.

What if I can't sleep all night?
What if I don't sleep enough and can't work tomorrow?
What if — oh, how long has it been now — should I get up and try to read?

The questions, their repetition. At some point the great monstrous question emerges, the one I fear the most but don't let myself think until around three:

What if I can never sleep again, and I lie awake like this until I go insane, and one day it kills me?

It hasn't happened yet.

I wish you sweet dreams and easy sleep.

Katharine