O gentle sleep...

I don't sleep well. Never really have.

I used to sleep walk when I was a kid. All of us did. My brother peed on my mom's shoes; my sister went next door, looking for me, in the middle of the night, when she was 9. We have lucid conversations with people and then wake up having no recollection. I still talk in my sleep sometimes. My husband says it's the cutest and creepiest thing I do.

I wake up and see things. I'm not asleep; I don't dream them. I remember every second and it's very real when it's happening.

There are people in my room all the time. I wake up in the middle of the night, and there's a shadow crossing my room; someone walking across the floor in the dark. I've seen children, friends, strangers. There are objects in my room. I've seen strange, geometric spider webs; an unwieldy news camera; buzzing wasps nest; a dragon. These things are absolutely real. I find myself in the middle of a stone cold panic in the dark. My body is completely paralyzed and I can't make myself un-see the horrible reality in front of me. Until I shift. Something shifts in me, a consciousness or perspective, and I realize that I'm not seeing what I'm seeing; not talking sense.

I wake up and apologize.

 

I'm sorry I scared you. Sorry I was annoyed that you “threw a party” in our bedroom in the middle of the night. Sorry I told you there was a man standing over me. I didn't mean to wake you up. Sorry.

I'm sure these “visitors,” as I call them, are triggered by something -stress, alcohol, fear, pepperoni pizza- but I haven't found a pattern yet. Sometimes I wake up and see terrifying things. Sometimes I don't.

One of the worst symptoms of depression, in my experience, is insomnia. And it's not just the inability to sleep. The turning and groaning; aches and pains that make any position a pinching discomfort; racing thoughts; guilt and shame projecting the happenings of the day poorly spent. That's all shit for sure. The thing that really gets me about the insomnia is that, while I'm grunting in frustration and counting backwards, all I can think about is how tired I was...all day. Eight hours before, at my desk, I was fantasizing about sleep. I had washed just my hair, crotch, and armpits that morning -no proper bath- so I could sleep an extra 10 minutes. I thought about skipping lunch and napping, even though I couldn't choke down a full dinner the night before. I was so fucking tired all day and now I'm flipping like a pancake, trying to get a few hours of solid sleep. The irony is staggering. I'd cry if I weren't laughing.

My friend sent a message to me a little while ago and it helped...

I wrote myself a poem last night so I could go to sleep:

It's okay to go to sleep now.

There's nothing more to do today.
There's no more planning needed for tomorrow.
Rest. Tomorrow, you'll be as good or better.

Knocked me right out.