Sleep-Deprived Woman, Reporting for Duty

One of the reasons I didn’t have children is because I knew I couldn’t handle the sleep deprivation. Joke’s on me, because I’m not sleeping any way.

Did you know that the sleep studies saying humans need eight hours of sleep were done on men? Women actually need ten hours of sleep. A NIGHT. Do you know how often I get ten hours of sleep in one single night? About once a year. Most nights I’m thrilled to crack seven. Four nights in the past week, I’ve been struggling along, haggard and bumping into things, with three or four hours.

Humans don’t operate well like this. It’s 3:28 a.m. and I’ve been awake for four hours already. That’s right, I went to bed around 8:30, woke up around 11:30 after a bad dream and haven’t slept since. I’m now on the couch anger blogging in hopes of convincing my brain to shut up and my body to rest.

Hopefully this peanut butter toast and expensive but thus far useless sleep drink will help.

You know what I really want? An app that takes your favorite comedy specials and mutes the applause, especially the applause at the end. Ooh, I hate that applause at the end. I’ve finally fallen asleep in the last ten minutes after hours of insomnia before turning on Son of Patricia for the 97th time and let Trevor Noah’s dulcet tones lure my cranky, neuro-deficient brain back to sleep. AND THEN THE GODDAMN UPROARIOUS APPLAUSE WAKES ME UP AGAIN. I mean, I’m sure that kind of applause is life blood for comedians, it sure would be for me, but can we at least develop an app that slowly lowers the volume on comedy shows so that once you’ve finally fallen asleep, you stay asleep? And by “you” I mean “me.” I just need some sleep, man.

It’s really my brain. I suspect my body would fall back asleep if my anxious brain didn’t take this quiet time opportunity to torture me. I’ve become a mental master during the daylight hours. Heading down the anxious rabbit hole? I switch courses within a minute or two. Intrusive thought? I flick it away. Old pattern reappearing in hopes of catching me in a weak moment? NOT IN THE SWEET SUNLIGHT OF MIDMORNING, SATAN. But at night, when all I want to do is sleep, and I’m afraid the tools I use during the day when my anxiety brain starts hopping will just wake me up, I really need some help.

Like pills, honestly. I’ve never been a pill person. The way I was raised, taking a Tylenol in college was an act of rebellion, forget all the fun drugs. When I was in my early twenties, I went to see someone about depression and his only solution was anti-depressants and I heard a really clear voice within say “this is not for you” and so I walked away. He basically chased me down the hall with his prescription pad. I’ve never regretted that decision. But it does not escape me that literally every time I go to the doctor, they try to give me pills with no mention of getting to the root of the issue, but the one time I go to the doctor because I actually want some sleeping pills for when the insomnia gets really bad, he tries to get me to go to a sleep study first, a sleep study which is impossible to schedule.

So I’m still here, rage blogging on my couch at 3:33 am because I had a bad dream, woke up after three hours of sleep, and that might just be it for me tonight.

My reason for writing here is to write myself to a new perspective, but I have no new perspective here. I just know how I feel the days after getting ten hours of sleep - like a superhero - and how I feel the days (far more common) when I get three or four hours of sleep - like an addled slug.

So if you see me trying to do things tomorrow, an addled slug, know that it's a triumph of the will.