The sort of illness that keeps me awake well into the wee hours of the morning. How accustomed I’ve become to see the dark blue of the sky turn to a fresh morning, teeming with morning dew and chirping birds. Everyone awakening, while I, barely shut-eye for an hour. I have an ailment that completely encompasses my every thought, no matter how grandiose or minuscule a thought may be. I have a malady that gives me anxiety, the sort you create based on unrealistic happenings and creations.