I lay in bed, my partner sleeping peacefully besides me. She’s never had any problems getting to sleep. I envy that easiness, that matter-of-factness about her going to bed. She feels no dread. She knows bed means sleep. It’s not something I’ve enjoyed my adult life –  but especially now. The tiredness is there. The tiredness is excruciating, weighted in every muscle, heavy in my eyes, and clogged in my head. The tiredness should bully me into sleep. But whatever that last checkpoint is, I never make it. This is sixteen years ago. I’ve ditched Aropax – too abruptly, I learn retrospectively; and following bad medical advice from a psychiatrist…