18
The day’s drama was too much for me. Despite Glenn’s words, I crashed hard when I got home and slept solidly until about three a.m. Then I woke and felt certain I would never sleep again. It was a familiar sleep pattern (or lack of sleep pattern) that I’d experienced occasionally over the past several months, alternating with bouts of nightmares. It wasn’t that I was anxious—at least not in the typical way—or that my mind was racing. Instead, my mind was still. Empty. No—detached was a better word. Incapable of experiencing emotion. I could have slit my wrists to watch them bleed, and I don’t even know if the brightness of my blood against my pale arms would have elicited a response. And I was okay with that … during. Afterwards, when I felt normal again, I’d be left with a profound fe
