Tag: Sleep

When It’s Not Mental Illness

~ Lori Lynne ~ 1 Comment

Sometimes I just make stupid decisions. Like last night. And the night before. And the night before that. I’m sleep deprived to the point of clumsiness, and it wasn’t my bipolar disorder that did it. My problem was that I didn’t even try to sleep. Hour after hour, I put off the action of lying down, closing my eyes, and making an attempt. Would the attempt have worked earlier? No way of knowing. But I wasn’t in a highly symptomatic state, so maybe. But I’m not trying.

Insomnia has been a central part of my life for more than twenty years. Sleeping pills were one of the drugs I abused and now need to avoid. Living with my condition has meant living with less sleep than is recommended–sometimes a little less, sometimes a lot less, sometimes a random “zero sleep” night. That’s the way it is. But right now, I’m making decisions that intensify the problem.

Why am I doing it? I’ve been hearing about something called “revenge bedtime procrastination,” and it fits what’s going on with me. Basically, it’s about not wanting to sleep because we don’t want to give up any of the hours where we’re free to goof off with reading or games or watching things.

Last night, as I have several times lately, I thought about taking one of the non-addictive sleep aids I have. I don’t take them often because they’re pretty much glorified Benadryl, which means I’ll feel like crap in the morning. But I really need some sleep. So, when I thought about it, I realized I’m definitely doing the bedtime procrastination thing, because my thought process wasn’t “I don’t want to feel groggy in the morning,” It was “but I was really looking forward to watching X/playing X.”

Am I going to change? Maybe. Probably not tonight. But calling myself out is a useful first step.

MacBeth Shall Sleep No More

~ Lori Lynne ~ Leave a comment

Shakespeare characters suck at sleeping, just like me. Hamlet wanders around the castle and sees ghosts. Henry V soliloquizes about how lucky peasants are to labor all day because they can sleep soundly at night. MacBeth, when talking about his murder-induced guilt, focuses on the fact that he’ll never again know peaceful sleep.

They all know the loneliness of being awake while the world sleeps around you. The worry of knowing you’ll be too tired to function in the morning and knowing you must. The pain and fatigue and vague nausea all the next day. Trying not to wake up those nearby while wishing they would wake up and keep you company; telling them to go back to sleep and resenting that they can.

For thirteen years now, I’ve had a pretty intractable case of insomnia. During my years of drug abuse, I used ever-increasing amounts of sedatives and hypnotics to cudgel my brain into sleep, only to have them stop working as I developed tolerance. The longest I’ve ever gone without any sleep at all is six days, a bipolar episode that ended in the hospital. Normally, I would drop off sometime between 3 a.m. and dawn, often to the soothing first chirping of the birds, only to be awakened by my alarm one to three hours later. It made my other issues worse; not surprising, considering the effects of sleep deprivation on everything from mood to pain threshold to executive function.

It was awful, all right…but what a bonanza of self-pity for an addict! I always had a plausible excuse for retreating to my room and skipping something I didn’t want to do. “Sorry, the sleep deprivation’s crossed a line and my survival requires a nap.” It was useful to the side of me that wanted no part of responsibilities that would get in the way of taking painkillers.

Fast forward to recovery, and needing to abstain from all the meds I used to abuse: I had to work at changing my attitude about sleep; I had to become willing to stay clean even if it meant I’d never sleep through the night again. I had to accept that I’m not in charge of how much sleep I get, and that I’ll get just enough when I need it badly enough. It meant practicing acceptance when lack of sleep interferes with my energy or mood. It meant letting go of any question of fairness about it all.

Of course, I fail at these enlightened principles. Often. I want to snarl at people who give advice on how to sleep…yeah, thanks, I haven’t tried your sleep hygiene tip any time during the last decade and a half of suffering. I have to guard my mind against the human, understandable, but very dangerous thought: “I really need one night of sleep. Just one night. I’d feel so much better. I haven’t taken sleeping pills in years now, so one would probably work really well. No one would have to know…”

But I don’t need “one night of sleep.” Not at the price I’d end up paying.