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I have had some form of insomnia since childhood. I have a vivid recollection of naptime in kindergarten and being poked by nuns telling me to stop wiggling and go to sleep. They would stand over me and nudge me (not so gently) with the toe of their shoe or a blackboard pointer. Because they didn’t want to disturb the other children they would whisper an admonition about what would happen to me if I didn’t fall asleep. Looking up at them, flowing visions in black, it always appeared they were growling or hissing at me.
I had the most interesting childhood bedroom of anyone I knew. My bedroom had two doors. One led to a hallway leading to our three bedrooms and the bathroom, the other door to the breakfast “nook.” When I went to bed each night I could see light coming through the bottom of the doors and it kept me awake. I eventually learned that I could place stuffed toys at the bottom of the doors to keep the light out. (Get up, get the toys, arrange the toys, go back to bed, toys weren’t right, get up, arrange the toys, go back to bed, toys weren’t right, get up, get more toys, bang toe on corner of bed.)
I also had a window in that room. Light from a street light about a block away shined through the sides of the curtain right in my eyes. I spent many years of my childhood with my pillow over my eyes. Because of the placement of the two doors, the closet, and the window, the bed could only be placed where it was. My parents eventually put a room darkening shade on that window but it was a fitted shade that hung inside the frame.
To make the shade functional for moving up and down it did not fit exactly against the inset frame. As a result, tiny beams of light would slip through the cracks and light up my pillow. Several times a night I would get up and rearrange the shade and jab it into place to obliterate the shards of light coming through. Sometimes it took several attempts to get it just right. (Get up, poke the shade, arrange the toys, poke the shade, go back to bed, get up, poke the other side of the shade, go back to bed, get up, fix the toys, hit knee on night stand, start crying, tell parents I’m fine, no, nothing is wrong, I just hit my knee, I’m fine.) I wanted to leave the shade closed once I got it right but in the morning my grandma would come in and pop the shade so I would have to adjust it all over again at bedtime that night.
Since my childhood bedroom was next to the bathroom someone would inevitably turn the hall light on and even though I had toys on the floor to keep normal light out, the sharp permeating light from the hallway bulb was too close to my room and would shine through the remaining cracks of the door all around the sides and top. Unless I hammered nails through more stuffed toy barriers all around the top and sides of the door, eliminating my ability to come and go, I was doomed and just waited. That light was never on for long so I didn’t do anything about it except toss and turn and wait until they turned it off. Then I had to wait for the bathroom noise to cease which could be a bath or brushing of teeth or all the other things we do in there. [In an effort to get my room dark enough my dad painted my room a very pretty DARK shade of turquoise. I loved it and it did help.]
Our home was a modest three bedroom two bathroom home and four of us lived there: mom, dad, Grammy and me. Being an only child was probably a blessing because it was a relatively quiet home for someone who had insomnia but even in a primarily adult home there were noises. Someone would open or close a cupboard or a door, or let the dog out (I wood hear the clicking of her nails on our patio which was right outside my bedroom), or talk, or read the paper in the breakfast nook (crinkle crinkle crinkle crinkle), flush, talk on the phone, answer the phone, snore, cough, sneeze, you know: life.
When morning came I was a zombie most days. I recall teachers telling me that I needed to get more rest, go to bed earlier, don’t watch TV (which we didn’t even have until much later). I didn’t know I had insomnia nor did I even know what the word meant but I would try to explain that I didn’t sleep well and they would blame it on a list of possible causes created by me not being a compliant child. Pressuring a child who already can’t sleep? Not good. I also had a budding learning disability that no one figured out and I was given grief about that too. (That little disability will be discussed in a future blog. I was a full blown adult when it was finally diagnosed and I have Cher to thank for its discovery.)
Nothing has changed significantly since those early years except that now I know how to cope with insomnia (a little) and now I’m in business for myself so that if I have a nonsleep night I adjust my day accordingly. When I feel bad I take a little nap or rest if I can’t nap. I give in to it now and don’t beat myself up in the middle of the night if I’m experiencing one or more of my sleeping “issues.”
A few years ago I gave into it completely while still working at my government job and wrote a novel. Most of it was written in the middle of the night. I’d go to work the next day in a complete fog but I loved writing it so much I didn’t care. And it was a rare period in my life when I didn’t suffer from insomnia though I still had it. I just didn’t suffer because I loved writing my novel.
The most important thing about sleep deprivation is you must catch up. Whatever you’ve lost, you must give back. In my office years I barely made it to Friday night. But somehow throughout the weekend of chores and home maintenance for the following week (and children years ago) I would find a way to catch up on my sleep, a little, and would begin another week. As I mentioned in my previous diet blogs, sleep deprivation and weight issues are connected. Something about messing with the metabolism without proper sleep. Oh, lucky me!
Next week, the many worlds of insomnia. No, there’s not just one! (It’s 3:35 a.m. Too tired to post the blog and will wait until I have my coffee in a couple of hours. At that time I’ll check this for typos.)
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