I don't dream so much as I begrudgingly become a slave to memories. My reality has yet to surpass the nostalgia of my recent experiences... no matter how painful they ultimately became.
So I fight the urge to sleep the same way a hero in a book scrambles across a tipping trap floor, looking for anything to grasp, as the world tilts him into the abyss below. To fall asleep means to lose control of the mind, and where my mind goes is a place that reminds me of all the perfect moments I am no longer privy to.
This is not insomnia.