insomniac (written dec. 2016)

Below is a revised version of an essay I wrote in December of 2016, shortly before starting online schooling. It's titled Insomniac. It’s difficult for my body and mind to agree on a time to fall asleep, which results in a restless and relentless fatigue that often keeps me up all night. That being said, here’s a little peak into what goes through my mind during the common occurrence of a sleepless night.

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I have not slept in two days, unless you count the two hours I was able to squeeze in this morning while listening to music. I’m physically exhausted in the worst way, in a familiar way, and I can’t shake it. Every time I think I’m drifting off, something will shake me awake with the highest degree of alarm. Whether it’s a POTS symptom, blood sugar spike, or the urge to write; I simply cannot sleep. Not to mention, the one time I did drift off in the past 48 hours, I dreamt that I was being attacked by a goat and woke up in a cold sweat. (Don’t ask.) So here I am, laying here at 2 AM, laughing out loud at Anna Kendrick’s book like nothing on earth is wrong. This is routine, though. I have gotten very good at ignoring my inevitably unhealthy lifestyle. You can’t say you blame me, either; after all, my body’s attacking itself. I don’t get a say in the matter. Now, that doesn’t mean that anyone ever hesitates to lecture me about having the sleeping habits of a giraffe.

I like to think I make good use of my time. I get twice as much writing done than I would if I slept a solid eight hours. Plus, I have lots of extra time to watch The Office. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the sunrises, too. Truth be told, the hours I spend between nightfall and daybreak aren’t the problem. What really bites is when the world wakes up and my exhaustion finally sets in. My body has forced itself out of sync with everybody else. I’m accustomed to isolation at this point, but it’s still beyond irking. Once in awhile, the lack of rest even makes me just the slightest bit delirious. For example, I was crying over Hamilton a few hours ago. (That’s pretty typical behavior for me, actually, but you get the point.)

In September, I was able to go to good old fashioned public high school for about three weeks before having to turn to a homebound education again. It was phenomenal. I got up at 5:30 and was at school bright and early everyday. I’d pace the hallways with my headphones on before class, I’d slave away at homework during study hall… so simple, but so satisfying. The routine a lot of people my age despise was all I could’ve ever asked for, and still, the answer I got was “no.” I know that I’m not living that lifestyle for a reason, whatever that reason may be. Still, I miss it. I enjoy having a productive and efficient routine to go about each day. I felt like a productive member of society for a little while. I guess I still am one now, just in a different way; and, in incredibly different hours. Keeping that in mind doesn’t always take away the sting, though. At the very least, I’m able to write more words in a day than most students at my old high school. My typing speed is probably more advanced, and I don’t have to get out of bed in the morning if I truly can’t. It’s not all bad. I accept these tribulations as blessings in disguise.

I should probably still plan to see a sleep specialist, though…