Diary of An Insomniac

Third Quarter

Every time it strikes back, I never really see it coming. Almost like I somehow keep forgetting it's a part of me, until the brutal reminder smacks me in the face and flips me the double bird.

It's a typical evening—I get home from work, walk the dog, have dinner, brush my teeth, then, head to bed.

I fold my glasses and place them on the nightstand, turn the lights off and stretch my neck to kiss my boyfriend good night. I set my internal alarm clock for six, knowing I have to get up early tomorrow morning. I close my eyes, expecting to seamlessly fall into a world where time holds no meaning.

But then—

My eyes snap open. For a reason I personally find illogical, my body tenses up, my stomach drops to my feet, and my heart beats louder, faster.

Fuck.

At that moment, I just know it. I won't fall asleep tonight.

Defeated, I let my head fall back onto the pillow with a muffled thud. I sigh, frustrated at myself and at the world simultaneously, but it's okay, yeah, totally okay. One sleepless night is allowed, right? Sure, I'll be a little tired tomorrow, but it's nothing I can't handle. Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine.

With my anxiety falsely appeased, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts freely pile on.

Full Moon

Every night I pop a sleeping pill, but because the universe is so adamant on watching me suffer, they stopped working a long time ago. I still go to bed, but now, the anxiety looms over me, pulling the strings over what little rest I'll be granted tonight.

I force a yawn, trying to trick my body into falling asleep. Alas, it's like facing yourself in a fighting pit—no one wins, everyone loses. I know that if I fall asleep now, I'll get six hours of sleep. Not bad, not bad at all, considering.

I close my eyes and do some abdominal breathing exercises, chastising myself for failing to have regular yoga or meditation sessions like I promised I would. No, no, stop thinking that way. No intrusive thoughts allowed. Only calm, only bliss, only sleep.

My eyes open, burning, and I rub them to get rid of that annoying itch. I realize I probably haven't slept at all, and I can't help it—I check the time again. The bright screen of my phone instantly kills any melatonin my unreliable pineal gland may have managed to secrete.

If I fall asleep now, I'll get three hours of sleep.

The thought makes me panic.

Screw it, I think. I grab my pillow and a spare blanket, then quietly head to the couch.

The new environment gives me a dash of hope, and I settle into my new comfort zone. The arm of the couch digs into my neck and the blanket is too short to cover both my feet and shoulders, but it's okay. Sleep will find me eventually, I just have to think positively from now on.

I wake up well before dawn, with what feels like elephants sitting on my eyelids.

First Quarter

It's time to try out a different approach. I spend my evenings googling everything I could possibly ever need to know, as if that would somehow help my precious REM sleep find its way back to me.

Sleep stages, types of disorders, relaxation methods, ASMR videos, blah blah blah. The words get tangled in my head and begin to lose all meaning, and I can only assume the lack of sleep is the one to blame. At work, people point out how tired I look—I explain, and every time I'm met with a genuine but ultimately dismissive "aw, that sounds awful".

Yes, yes it is awful. Because when the sun rises, I have to get dressed and try to catch up to the world's speed, with less and less resources at my disposal.

At night, I do it all—drink chamomile tea, read a book, keep the TV on in the background. Try as I may, I still can't reach that stage of restfulness, the one that seems completely out of my reach.

Anger morphs into desperation.

I find myself woken up by the stupidest things, such as a car driving by outside my window or a creak in the walls. Fatigue begins to deeply take its toll on my sanity, and I break down in tears, wanting to pull out my own hair and bury myself underground.

My boyfriend gets woken up by the sound. "Hey, what's wrong?" He traces gentle patterns on my back.

I only cry harder. "I'm exhausted."

New Moon

The next day, it somehow feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Emotions are meant to be expressed, they say, but come on, that's just a whole other level of physiological injustice. Feeling like I could secure a permanent role as an extra in the Walking Dead series, I make my way to the pharmacy, share my most recent distress with the nice lady at the counter, and leave with a new sleep-inducing medication.

That night, I try to let it all go even though I'm undeniably scared. I stare at the box of new pills, begging it to please take pity on me and meet me halfway. Once it's swallowed, I go through a few minutes of guided meditation, and head to bed with my fingers crossed.

At last, it happens.

I fall asleep—a deep, long, undisturbed sleep.

It feels surreal, like a miracle I had given up on an eternity ago. As I wake up, I can finally stretch out my limbs, smile in relief, or yawn out of nothing but natural mechanics. It may be ridiculous to say, but there's a small sense of pride that accompanies the first night of getting well-deserved rest.

Hell, I'll take it.

It may take a while to recover my normal levels of energy, but the burden is finally gone, and for now, I feel liberated.

Until next time, insomnia.

Can't say I'll miss you.