sleep is a little death, and for a long time, i experienced an intrinsic existencial horror at the annihilation of self that it invites. i cannot imagine myself without my mind; how could i? it seemed, and still seems, a void. a space where the "i" goes to rest, and die, little by little, with each passing day. however, tonight i thought of something. i thought of being, and of myself as one, and my body - my physical presence - a fact i pay little mind in my day to day life though i ought to allocate it more time in my conscience. my body remains, doesn't it? when my conscience goes where i cannot follow, my form is still present, and will be once i wake up, or i would not be able to. it is evident i have anxiety. in fact, it was much worse before i got on medication, and so it causes me a panic - what if i choke to death, or a ceiling falls on top of me, or anything else happens? and this is where i find comfort in the cold logic of probability. some time ago, i lived with this fear, of something happening to my body in my sleep, and it was not unfounded, and in fact perfectly logical. but the circumstances were unusual for the larger population, and have long since, thankfully, changed. and so, my body will remain. if i start to choke, it will awaken me. if a fire breaks out, i have people in the building that would alert me. i may have forgotten to turn the stove off. i may fall and hit my head and die, very stupidly, in my sleep. but compared to what was, the probability of it is negligible. it exists, of course, as all probabilities do, no matter how little, but it is negligible for the time being. my body, my physical form, the thing i ignore is the one that grounds me to the waking reality, the one that will allow me to wake up, and be myself again. i find i am immensely grateful for it.
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