You know you're in trouble when your co-worker starts dropping pamphlets entitled
Anxiety?,
Depression? and
Talk Therapy! on your desk. Yesterday, I arrived at work to find a
National Geograhic article on "The Science of Sleep." I guess the writing's on the wall. It's time to come clean. My name is Lauren, and I have trouble sleeping.
I've had trouble sleeping for nearly as long as I can remember. In middle school, I suffered from sleep paralysis. This is a relatively common phenomenon when you're awake, or half-awake, but can't move or talk despite an overwhelming perception of evil being in the vicinity. I used to hear the sound of maracas shaking, and getting closer, but the more I tried to move or scream, the more paralyzed I felt. In high school, I began sleep-walking around my family house, waking to find my mother guiding me back to bed after my attempts to unlock the front door or sort the linen closet. This carried over into college, where my roommates told wicked tales of me sitting up in my bed in the middle of the night, glaring at them and whispering, "
You, bitches!" before falling dramatically back to sleep. The summer before my junior year of college, I shared a suite with a gal I couldn't stand, and ended up in her room one night, pawing through her panty drawer. When she woke up, I woke up, too, and found myself fumbling nonsensically for an apology.
In my early adulthood, I found myself struggling to share a bed with Adam. I was so fearful that he would witness my sleepwalking, but alas, it seemed as though I had finally found peace. That is, until the night I dreamt I was being attacked by a gang of men, and woke up biting Adam on the arm. He woke up yelling, glaring at me wondering what kind of wild woman he was dating, and I was at an all-time low. Luckily, he was quick to forgive, and the last several years my strange sleep behavior (ripe with uncontrollable crying, laughing, yelling or perplexing one-sided conversation) has left him with plenty of fodder for teasing. I guess after that biting him thing, I deserve it.
Now, though, things are starting to change. What before had been a behavioral issue seems to now have manifested into a physical one. I wake up panicked, gasping for breath, with overwhelming feelings of dread and thoughts of dying. Sleeping has become scary for me because I know that I likely won't get through the night without suffering an anxiety attack. After several months of going through my workday feeling like the walking dead, I knew it was time for a change. I couldn't do it anymore. So, I got my doctor on board, got a referral, and scheduled a night for a sleep study.
I was so excited to go...to finally go to sleep, and have them solve whatever ails me. Although it was strange to be away from my family for a night, and I felt myself missing them, the idea of be cured was so appealing that I packed up my overnight bag with glee. I arrived at the sleep center excited for whatever might come.
I didn't realize what all would come. The wires, and the wires, and oh yeah, the wires. The ones pasted down to my scalp, my forehead, my temples and cheeks. Oh, and those slithering down my pant legs to attach to my ankles. And just in case my seasonal allergies don't have me sneezing enough during the night, don't forget to stuff the breathing sensors up my nostrils! It was an awful night of sleep. Where I had been hopeful and excited before, my mind grew exhausted, disappointed and frustrated. Once, during the night, after falling asleep for a few screamingly short minutes, I awoke with a shudder, perhaps because of my sleep anxiety, or perhaps instead because of the ten pounds of wire attached to the box that I trailed around everytime I shifted two inches. In any case, I silently whispered, "
Yes! They got it!" hoping that the computer was able to process my wakening spell. At least something worthwhile might come from all this.
After a less-than-refreshing night of sleep, I went home to my family (where Bryony, awake with Dad and watching cartoons, thought I had been in the bathroom the whole time). I limped through the day, feeling even more exhausted than usual, then fell to bed that night. I still didn't sleep well. The sleepier I was, the worst I slept. It's been awful.
For some reason my sleep test results haven't been reported to my doctor four weeks after the fact. My sleep issues have scaled up to jaw clenching and teeth grinding, both of which I've done since childhood, but now to a more intense degree. I bought my first mouth guard at the drugstore yesterday. Any plans to woo Adam with my sexual prowess at night have been abandoned for a silicon mouthpiece that makes me sound like Cindy Brady circa 1969. So much for Bryony having a sibling...!
So that's the way it is. Sleep is scary and waking hours are exhausting.
Good night and good luck.
