Early morning. An eerie restlessness everywhere....scattered around my room. Couldn't sleep...there were intermittent, sharp, piercing nightmares. I could see around me, yet asleep.

Legs jittery, wants to go everywhere.

What is this sensation? Inside there is a screeching razor's edge. Flesh blood trembling.

It is not madness that i am afraid of, but becoming one. Being mad is being dead. Fear of death insubstantial.

In these terrible hours I hold my pencil and draw. As the dark lead scratches across the paper, I see a faint flickering of light again. I change. I breathe.

"....the mind's canker in its savage mood,

When the impatient thirst of light and air

Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate,

Marring the sunbeams with its hideous

shade,

Works through the throbbing eyeball to

to the brain

With a hot sense of heaviness and pain."

- Byron.