At three in the morning, she’s still awake, nowhere near falling asleep.
Which doesn’t make sense considering the day she’d just lived through — especially considering the day she’d just lived through. Physically, mentally and emotionally drained, she should be dead on her feet and ready to drop at any moment. And in a way, she is.
But fear keeps her awake.
Fear that she’ll dwell on the events of the past 18 hours. Fear that those thoughts will seep into subconscious and leak into her dreams. Fear that she’ll wake up and realize it wasn’t just a bad dream. Fear that she hadn’t escaped the bad reality while she slept. Fear that when she looks in the mirror the next day, her bloodshot eyes rimmed with pink circles of skin rubbed raw will be the evidence of the tears she’d wept.
Fear that, maybe, she’s not really as strong as people think.
She’ll play the hand she’s been dealt as best she can, but what if it’s not good enough?
In the long run, she knows she’ll be okay. She knows she’ll survive. But every now and then, a single thought creeps in, asking, “What if she won’t be okay? What if she won’t survive?”
That’s what keeps her awake.
Not the events of the day. But the doubt. The doubts she hasn’t really allowed herself to have about her situation, her choices and her future. But mostly, doubts about herself.
She can’t fall asleep for fear that her insecurities will overwhelm her and swallow her whole.