Something was wrong, he decides, as he lays there in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had just begun to drift off to sleep, but then something just set him off; a sudden surge of adrenaline, of fear, that had him up and out of his bed. He looked around, and sighed.<br/><br/>"Maybe another nightmare..." He mutters to himself. He stood from the bed, and walked over to the window to open it up-- perhaps some air flow would help him sleep-- only to pause halfway there when he could see how large and brilliant the moon was tonight.<br/><br/>He finally closes the distance after some time of just standing there, and opens the window. He knows its late, although he is uncertain of just how late it is, but the lack of ambient noise is more than disturbing to him.<br/><br/>What the hell was going on? Was it happening again? But he's been doing so well without the medicine...he was so sure he finally had things under control, and...maybe it was a dream. Maybe he was lucid sleeping. He's done that before... once, or twice. Maybe.<br/><br/>"wake up..." He mutters as he pinches himself. And when that doesn't work, he balls up a fist and slams it into his open palm, hard enough to feel a dull, crushing pain, and to make a loud smacking noise, but not hard enough to do any true harm to himself.<br/><br/>He wasn't waking up. He wasn't dreaming. This was really going on. This was different, but it felt like it could be the same. He slowly made his way over to the medicine cabinet, and opened it up. He stared at the bottle of prescription medicine that was there.<br/><br/>Maybe he needed them afterall. He could just take one, and then half an hour from now, everything would be normal again... but no. No, no, no, no, he can't do this. He can't go back to the medicine. How could he ever learn to cope with this if he just kept falling back on the crutch? He had to get over this. He had to overcome what was happening.<br/><br/>He moved back to the window, and closed it. Then he closed the blinds, and crawled back to the bed. Rather than sleep, though, he grabbed his panflute, and decided to play on it some. Playing always helped him to relax.<em> I'm going tog et thruogh this. </em>He reassures himself.