My Relationship With Sleep

I can’t sleep. At least, not when I’d like to. Once, I could. But not anymore.

When I was young, I prided myself on the ability to fall asleep anywhere. When my family traveled, I bragged to my brothers that I could sleep on the plane while they couldn’t. I slept in the car on road trips, or on the 10 minute drive to the grocery store. My friends chided me for being the first to drift during sleepovers, but I never minded it. I didn’t wish to partake in the gossip and let myself leave to the solitude of sleep instead. My first 2 years in high school, I fell asleep during boring lectures, but it was a choice. It was always my choice. It felt like a special ability, to have so much control over my body and mind.

When my dog died, I went to bed early. I could be at peace then. When school became too much, I would look forward to the night where I could drift away and leave the problems behind until the next day. I was never driven awake by nightmares. They seemed not to notice me, and it made sleep all the more comforting. I hardly ever dreamed at all, and I loved the peaceful, blank emptiness in my head when I wasn’t awake. Sleep didn’t control me, I controlled it. It was my escape.

I didn’t sleep on the way to the hospital. Though it was late and sleep beckoned to me, nothing could drag me away from my racing mind. My leg bounced on the floor, rocking the car.

“Stop that,” my dad snapped. It was unlike him to be harsh. Startled, I willed my leg to still. Instead, I focused on my hands, fiddling with my rings.

“I’m sorry,” my dad said quietly, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"It’s okay,” I replied, barely a whisper. My mind was elsewhere, racing through every what if scenario it could imagine. What if I’d never asked her to come home tonight? Or if I had just waited 5 minutes to call? What if I don’t get to say goodbye? But what if I do? Can I handle it? What if..” My mind wouldn’t stop, and my breathing became erratic as we neared the looming building ahead, glowing an eerie red from the red cross it bore. A light drizzle began to patter on the windshield and it soon turned to a crushing downpour that matched my swirling emotions. My perfectionist father parked crooked, taking up two spots, and ran towards the doors as I rushed to keep up with him. 

Everything was a blur, and most of it I’ve tried to forget. The looks of worried mothers and sons, of an old man crying alone, and confused kids asking for a dad who wouldn't be coming back. Most of all, I tried to forget the way that I became one of them, rocking back and forth in the sterile blue chair and watching the clock tick ever so slowly, trapped in a haze. Hours passed by, and my mind grew foggy.

I didn’t want to fall asleep. I wanted to stay awake, so that I heard any news the second it was delivered. But suddenly, I found my head lolling to the side, and I was dragged in and out of a restless sleep I fought to control, and found that I couldn’t.

We sat in that waiting room for 8 hours until dawn arrived.

When the doctor beckoned us forward with a pitiful look in his eyes, I did not feel anything. I became numb, not registering the words he said.

‘The damage was too much…’

‘Nothing we could have done..’

‘I’m sorry for your loss..’

I can't recall the rest of that day. I don’t know how we managed to drive home, or what we did when we got home. Did we eat? Did we shower, use the bathroom? I don’t know. Did we start the dishwasher, or did we forget? Mom always did that. Mom wasn’t there anymore.

The day slowly passed us by. The sun made its course and set beyond the horizon. There were no stars that night, just clouds so dark they even hid the moon. It was so dark. It was too dark. 

At some point, I must have made my way up the stairs, for I found myself standing alone in my bedroom, the lights off as I usually liked. But tonight, the shadows morphed into memories. Memories of my mom making my favorite cookies after school, or pulling me close when I shook with quiet sobs. Ones I didn’t wish to remember emerged from the shadows too. Every fight we ever had, every word I had ever regretted saying. All the times I hadn't said ‘I love you’ when I should have. They surrounded me, suffocating me. I rushed to turn on the light, and the memories slipped away, dissipating in the light. Tears streamed down my face, but I don’t remember ever beginning to cry. I wiped them away and crawled into bed, anxious for the usual tug of weariness I so desperately longed for. Tonight, of all nights, I yearned for the quiet escape. But sleep never came.

As the days went by, sleep took me at times I wasn’t expecting. When I tried to find comfort in a favorite show or book, it stole me away. When I went out with my dad to try and distract myself, it dragged me under on a bench, or in the car during a quiet conversation. At night, it left me alone. It let me bathe in self pitying thoughts as I watched the moon rise and fall.

Worst of all, nightmares seemed to finally notice me. They came for me, drowning me in the same dream over and over. I was only safe when I was awake.

In my dreams, I found myself in my living room, a comforting fire crackling in the hearth, and the smell of vanilla candles wafting through the air. I strained to hear the chatter of my parents in the kitchen, but no matter how hard I tried to listen, I couldn’t hear anything. My eyes searched for a familiar face, but I found myself alone. The fire began to die, and the candles lost their inviting scent all too quickly. Deafening silence enveloped me in a chilling embrace that I fought to escape, but I found that I couldn’t. I squirmed in an invisible hold, the walls of the house suddenly suffocating, and felt myself falling farther into my own head. 

My surroundings fell away as I sank into a pit of darkness. It was nothing, it was empty, and there was no end. It seemed to be mocking me, laughing as I panicked in the place that used to calm me. I shivered and tried to run, to try to escape this place, but my legs were running through molasses, and there was nowhere to go. Maddening screams began to tear free from me, and as soon as I felt I couldn’t take it anymore, it stopped. 

I would awake in a cold sweat, a scream lingering on my lips as fresh tears threatened to fall. I would fight to choke in fresh air, and my body wouldn’t stop shaking. Before, I had wanted to sleep. But now, sleep had become a sword bent on cutting me until I bled dry. I didn’t want it anymore.

At her funeral, I stood on weak and tired legs. The only rest my body received was scattered throughout the day, and never during the evening hours where I longed for it. I wondered if that would ever change. I wasn’t sure. I knew I would live on, if not for me than for my dad. I wouldn’t let sleep take anything else from me.  

When they carried her out, alone in that box, the feeling of grief consumed me. It was never ending; it was vast, dark, and empty. It was my nightmare becoming reality. I choked down a sob, but small tears still managed to escape that were washed away in the rain. I placed a flower on her coffin and let myself mourn. But I mourned more than my mother that day. I mourned the loss of my friend called sleep.