Sleep's a Motherfucker

Dear Sleep,
Fuck you.
It's the cruelest fucking joke that I've got going right now in a litany of cruel fucking jokes.
I've been staying up later and later to hold it off, stave it off...I've stopped taking the melatonin that I was using to try and sleep before because while it may induce rest, it doesn't prevent me from dreaming and that's where the trouble starts.
It's not like I'm having nightmares...nightmares I can handle. I deserve to spend each resting moment of sleep tormented by visions of my flesh being torn open by rusty razors and my spleen nibbled on and pecked at by fire ants and dung beetles.
That would be fine.
I'm having the opposite problem in that, I'm having dreams that are warm and wonderful. Dreams where I get to hold my son again, feel his arms around my neck, feel myself stroke his hair while he's holding on so tight he could strangle me.
I dream that I get to hear him squeal 'Daddy!' when I pick him up from preschool and feel him run into my arms.
I dream that I hear his laughter and hear him say all of his little catch phrases like, "Maybe that's a good idea" or sing Flight of the Conchords' "Business Time" from the backseat of the car.
I dream all of these things and I'm happy for the first time in a long time. I dream all of these things and I forget what an absolute mess I've made of everything, how I destroyed my chance to be happy with my son and how I've denied myself all of those simple joys and I forget about all of the things in his life that I'm going to miss.
I wake up and see that I'm surrounded by the rubble of the world that I let crumble because I was too weak to control my own base and selfish instincts.
I wake up and wish I could just keep dreaming and be with my son and be happy again.
Fuck you sleep.