It comes in waves, the insomnia. It has for the last year (or two). I might go a week, or several, or sometimes even a month or more, where I forget my sleepless episodes. But then it rears its mysterious head out of nowhere, where one night of insomnia tends to spiral into several.
When dusk arrives and bedtime hours loom closer, I wonder what kind of night I have in store. It creates a mild sense of anxiety, not enough to send me into a full-fledged panic, but enough to gently tickle the back of my brain. Will I be able to sleep tonight? Will I get at least seven hours (ideally eight or nine, but I’ll settle for seven) of pure, uninterrupted, black-hole sleep? I often put off finding out the answer. Any insomniac knows laying in bed wishing desperately for sleep is torture. (Sleep anxiety is apparently a major reason for insomnia, which coincidentally starts because of the insomnia.)
It’s a curious thing, to feel utterly exhausted, eyes drooping, tired and supposedly ready for slumber, only to find when it’s finally time to lay down to sleep, the body does not comply. I usually know within twenty minutes whether it’s going to be “one of those nights”. Once the mental frustration sets in, the realization that sleep will likely not come tonight, there’s nothing to do but strap in for the ride. It’s time to accept your fate baby.
I get up. I make chamomile tea. I read my novel for an hour or two1. If I’m lucky, my night ends there. If not, I go to the kitchen and check the clock on the oven. 2am. Not bad. There’s still the possibility I can get adequate sleep.
They say it’s better to focus on something else instead of laying in bed tossing and turning. So I keep busy. I distract myself. I do some dishes. Put away some clothes. Do some light tidying-up around my unfurnished apartment (yes, it’s been four months). Eventually I feel what I assume is sleepiness. I go back to bed, turn off the lights, close my eyes. I wait to be pulled under.
Nothing. No half-dream state. No black void swallowing me up. I accept this isn’t working. I might shed a tear because oh good lord would I love to sleep. Instead I get up and continue with my night, like it’s the second act of my day. A very long day that has no beginning or end.
I give up on my no screens rule. I open my laptop, check my email, peruse some social media. I put on a gentle yoga class. I do some stretches. I sit in meditation, one that is specifically designed for sleep. It relaxes me. I feel calm. I stifle a half-yawn. My eyes are hurting now. I feel slightly delirious. Perhaps these are signs of tiredness. Perhaps I should try again for sleep (third time’s a charm).
I don’t have a lamp in my bedroom. I have to fumble around in the dark when attempting to plug or unplug my fairy lights into the wall. It’s a nuisance, and I don’t want to do it again unless I know I’ll fall asleep. I leave the light(s) on. I lay very still for 10-15 minutes. I try the sleep meditation again. I try to will myself to sleep. I put on rain sounds. I listen to white noise. I’m losing faith. Sleep is an elusive concept. Sleep is a cat that runs away from me the more I want to pet it. Sleep is a bitch. Sleep is an avoidant boyfriend who only messages when I stop texting them back. Sleep only likes me when I forget about it completely. How does one sleep? Is it possible to forget how to sleep?
It’s 4am. Witching hour has passed; the darkest part of the night is over. Dawn is coming. Once the first streaks of light come through, I know I’m fucked. Seven hours of sleep will not be granted. Best I can hope for now is four or five. Some sleep is better than no sleep. Be grateful now you don’t have a job. Maybe it’s a good time to write. The words come easily and I nearly finish an entire Substack post. It might be due to sleep deprivation. Sleep deprivation is likely good for creativity.
If I’m up at 5:30, I go for a sunrise walk. It somehow makes it feel more intentional, poetic, as if I chose to pull an all-nighter because of my creative mania and not because my body is failing me. I roam the streets and take in the quietness, the stillness, the fresh mountain air, the feeling that I am the only person awake in the world, or at least in this small American town. I feel slightly nauseous. My feet feel both light and heavy at the same time. I smile at another early riser walking their dog, knowing full well they likely got their eight hours of sleep, them not knowing I haven’t slept at all. I’m envious. They don’t know how good they have it. You never know how good you have it until it’s gone.
I arrive home, legs all wobbly, brain mushy, unsure whether I’m awake or this is a fever dream. I go to bed for the last time tonight — or this morning, however you want to put it — and this time I know my body will comply. I know I will finally get my precious shut-eye. I don’t exactly feel tired — I don’t know what tired feels like anymore since I thought I was tired all night — but I am ready to go unconscious. Even if it’s only for a few hours before I begin the day again.
Sleep. Oh glorious sleep. How I love you sleep. How I pine for you sleep. How I will quit my beloved caffeine for you sleep. How I will never take you for granted ever again sleep. How much I need you, sleep! How important you are to making me feel like a functioning human being, sleep2!
I have now joined the secret Insomniac Club. We walk amongst you during the day, but you not amongst us during the night. We know the night in all its intricacies because we are night time creatures. We didn’t choose this life. It chose us.
I wake up today after a second night of insomnia. The accumulated exhaustion might be good to get proper rest tonight. The day shall go on, even for the sleep deprived. And if the night goes on too, so be it. I’ll embrace this plot line as interesting fodder for character development. I’ll wear it like a badge of honor, add it to the resume, say it built resilience and an ability to work in varying states of delirium. My under-eye bags are Prada. At least that’s what I tell myself.
ironically, I recently re-read My Year of Rest and Relaxation. iykyk.
in all serious, I am trying to get to the root of my insomnia and figure out if its physical or psychological. I have tried high doses of melatonin, gardening, buying a new mattress, blackout curtains, “wind-down” routines, sleepytime tea — all have worked to varying degrees, but sometimes all you can really do is surrender to it. This reddit post was a game changer for me.
I'm an indirect light person, myself, deep in the throes of conditioning, with incredibly erratic eating, sleeping, and resting/working periods right now. I've fully surrendered to the framework of, "if I'm awake right now, my body must have a good reason for it." I check in with my body—do I need to eat? Is there something I want to be doing for some reason at night, when my cognition is primed? (Which is concurrent with my wondering if indirect light folk are primed for some level of nocturnalism.) Once I've satisfied the want, which is sometimes a meal, sometimes chipping away at my HD example data spreadsheet, testing out an experimental astrological technique, I find I go to sleep readily.
I do know that where I live, and how my apartment is structured and decorated, suits my environment variable very strongly, so I know I'm in a good place here on that basis. From there, I figure if there is energy, then there is something that energy wants to be spent on.
Have you ever tried humming? When I was a teenager I was bullied at school and didn't want to go to school and thus developed insomnia. One night, out of nowhere, I started humming to myself. I choose 'Someone like you' by Adele, because it was slow en i could drag out the notes. It was very soothing and I almost always fell asleep after humming three lines. Recently I found out that humming calmes down the nervous system, that our body know which song we should hum because each song has different vibrations when humming and the body knows which you need to get your body relaxed and in tune. i don't know if you have tried this? But it could work?