Today is Wednesday. It is the first Wednesday of the week long mid-term break.

It's the 122nd night that I cant sleep.

I turn in my bed, looking for a comfortable spot to rest my head, something that should feel warm, natural. No, that's not this. This feels alien, so strange--like something I don't experience often, and for a good reason.

I try to lie on my back, facing the ceiling, and find myself contemplating the odds of the roof collapsing on me, the odds of anything collapsing on me, the odds of the odds being Ever In My Favour.

I think about the days that I used to try to fall asleep, as I turn onto my side. My bed creaks as I do. It says more than most people know, it speaks. Honest, it does. It tells me that those extra sandwiches weren't worth it, that tomorrow's going to be a sad day at the scale. So here, now, on my right side, I close my eyes.

I close my eyes to see exactly what I tried to avoid by doing so - I see the truth. My truth at least. That's what the therapist told me once. "Your truth can sometimes hurt you, so it's best to look deeper, for the real truth." As if. As if a ten year old would understand that.

My closed eyes choose not to grow heavy, but rather to fill me with panic and fear, as I contemplate tomorrow.

It seems simple enough, this sleep thing. Simple as taking candy from a baby, simple as counting to three. Simplicity that's too complex for me to find.

I turn on my left side, facing the wall, with one major thought in my mind- a first for me. I turn and think of tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be night 123.