Perhaps it was only that I did not feel any crazier than I had ever felt. I did not notice any missing gray tissue, I did not seem to be thinking any slower or more strangely, and so far I’d had no conversations with invisible buddies that I was aware of.
Except in my sleep, of course — and did that really count? Weren’t we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor’s children?
Lindsay, Jeff: Darkly Dreaming Dexter. Orion. London 2005