Writing Sample

Consider this a personal essay. I think I'd love to be an essayist:

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“My legs can’t dance in a blank sleep.”
I wrote those words and I have no recollection of penning them.
I was ridiculously cracked on sleeping pills, and I discovered later that I spent a solid amount of time with a pen in my hand before I passed out.
My legs can’t dance in a blank sleep. I can’t express myself under the pressure of this medication. How can you expect me to adhere to any medicinal regimen when my subconscious is crying out to me already?
Why is this so haunting?
Nevermind. I know why.
A few days ago I met with a very nice man who my insurance company pays to listen to my secrets.
I don’t sleep much and that seemed to concern him.
He gave me sleeping pills that stop me from having dreams. I used to have dreams every time I slept, which was every couple of days.
Now, nothing.
No more vivid recollections of childhood offenses.
No more baby deer helping me get dressed then sending me out into the world with a song and dance.
No more men in dark corners forcing me into the trunk of their car.
No more sensations of falling and waking up sweating.
No more, no more at all.
Does my body miss these visions more than I ever could have assumed?
Should I give them back?
I can. I have that power. How many people have the power to give and take unearthly incoherent night time illusions like I do? How many people have such command over their brains?
Ha. Brain command. What do I think I am, sane? If I had any control I wouldn’t have taken those pills to begin with. I don’t need sleep to have those visions. I would be on day 5 of no sleep and have an epic battle with a dinosaur at the vending machines because the stupid beast was eating all of the twizzlers.
Who needs sleep when you have a mental illness. Dreams aren’t limited only to nighttime when you have no nighttime to really contend with. And yet, when I do sleep, my mind wanders less during the day. I have zero nightmares but also zero dreams, both conscious and unconscious.
Which is worse?
An exhausted world of constant fantasy or a well rested reality of gray?
I’ll decide after a good night’s sleep.