I don’t like sleeping because my brain doesn’t like to turn off. It fears the blankness.
I don’t like sleeping because it makes me vulnerable. I’m off my guard.
I don’t like sleeping because it makes me feel refreshed and I don’t like to feel good. Perhaps I don’t deserve to, after all the damage I’ve done. Perhaps it would invalidate my struggles and excuses, if, even temporarily, the illness could be so easily shrugged off.