* * * *
Unfortunately, the crying continued. And worse, I was waking up in the night, unable to fall back asleep. With sleep eluding me, I’d get up and check my emails, or go out to the studio and paint for a while, or tidy up. While I occasionally cried myself to sleep, the tears never came during those periods of wakefulness, in the dead of night. Once, I woke up with the crusted evidence of tears in my eyelashes. I know I hadn’t been crying before falling asleep, which could only mean I wasn’t even safe from this demon in my dreams.
I also became aware I was becoming forgetful. I’d walk into a room and forget what I’d gone in there for, or I’d be in the middle of a sentence and forget what I wanted to say.
“I must be going senile,” I’d say with a nervous laugh as I struggled frantically to regain my train of thought.