So I was afraid of sleeping

so here's what happened. My sleep schedule got really messed up. IT started on Thursday when I was up until 1.a.m because of the cafe. Then I woke up at 5.a.m. in order to get to work on time. After eight hours of highly inefficient work, I trudged back home. I could have gone to the bank in that time but I knew that I entirely lacked the necessary energy to go all the way to the bank and then all the way home, so I just went home. I went and took a nap at around 4.p.m. and woke up at midnight. So I stayed up a couple hours and went back to bed, waking up again at 7am. Then that day was another late night, going till, like 3am. so I slept kinda late, till, like, 9am. had another late night last night. Hopefully won't be a problem today, since I have to work tommorrow and I'd like to get to work early. I realized that as I starting to fall asleep last night that I was feeling creeped out and afraid of my dreams, or rather the way I dream.
My dreams seem to come out of a ball of old oily clay, still old and crumbly, like my brain is line with it, and my injured mind is bringing it out sad and crooked.
I was thinking, "I don't want to see the sickness of my own mind. I don't want to dream." They are full of dust. They have that triangular nausea at their center. I remember one night long ago of feeling incredibly sick about a dream I had. I was incedibly concerned with getting the sleeping area into an orderly state. I seriously wanted to throw all the wrinkled linens off because there was a sense or urgent danger in the clutter. All of a sudden I was seeing everything in clay again and in my head a voice was insisting something about people dying, like the disorder of the clay meant death. I wanted to throw up.
Last night I only saw the beginning of the dream going around something familiarly made of clay, and I felt sick, I felt disease in my head. i think I was acutely ashamed of my dreaming state because of the clay, because of the wayit twisted things. It made them less real. It made me feel the sickness of my waking life I didn't know was there.
And I still feel sick, I can't handle it I am so ill at the thought of how I adress the world. It gets worse every time. All the things I realized about what's wrong, they're still there. i still can't handle being happy, I still don't know how to behave. I still can't function like the real people. I fell like crap, just like always. I know better and for some reason I won't do what I know to do.