I Couldn't Sleep Again, Again

Thirteen nights without sleep. Fourteen hazier and hazier days. Every sound feels like I'm hearing it from a mile underwater. Muscles burn and ache, and it feels like I have to keep reminding myself to breathe. It hurts so much.

But I can't stop now. I have to keep going, for as long as I can. That's all that matters. 

Because thirteen nights ago, almost fourteen now, as I lay me down to sleep, I found a note under my pillow. It said "Every night when you fall asleep, you die. In the morning something else wakes up in your place, thinking it was you, and everything that was you becomes part of its dream, until everything you ever were fades away, and you are forgotten."

The note was written in my own handwriting. 

-Authors Note: Another blank page story. Kinda starting to wonder if I'm depressed. Just kidding, I already know I'm depressed but I take medication for it and do cognitive therapy and now this, writing, apparently. Except not really because I'm not actually afraid of death. The way I figure, my death is really everyone else's problem, not mine. I'll either have nothing to worry about, or everything to worry about. Whichever it is, at least I won't be bored. 

Oh but do me a favor and clear my browser history. No, it's nothing bad; I just want to keep the secret of where I get all my short-shorts. Gotta leave behind a little bit of mystery, right?

Goodnight! See you tomorrow... Or will I?

Yes. Yes I will.