17

Gwyneth I haven’t slept all night. And that’s sort of a problem because I become jittery and a bit neurotic when I don’t sleep. Insomnia and I aren’t strangers, especially since I didn’t manage to completely desensitize myself to that word. It might be written in a red Sharpie because it’s one of the words I struggle with the most. Along with death. I think I also need to add moving on to the red list because I can’t do that. I’m supposed to, I have to, but my mind is stuck in a different type of loop that I can’t escape. So I spent the night in the closet. I wanted to stay with Dad, but Nate said in that stern voice of his to “go home and get some sleep” because tomorrow—today—is a big day. He didn’t voice the last part, but I figured it out on my own. However, I couldn’t just get some sleep. Not even after I blasted Twenty One Pilots on my headphones and exhausted myself by dancing. Not even when I swallowed like three sleeping pills. Or maybe it was five. I lost count somewhere. My