Probably one of the most frustrating things in the world is a failed attempt at sleep. Whether it be squeezing your eyes shut to block out the conscious, tossing and turning in frustration knowing you need a good night’s rest for that big day tomorrow, or just staring motionless into the blackness of night, I think we can all safely agree it is one of the negative’s of life. I can report on this matter as I believe myself to be the most difficult person to knock out – When undergoing surgery I needed two anaesthetics before they could put me out.
Ever since I was a little girl I have dreaded bedtime. Not only did I think of it as a waste of your life lying under a sheet with your eyes shut, but because I knew once I was there the lights would be off but with someone still home. For hours I would lay trying to switch off my brain and stop the constant chatter keeping me awake. And because of the God-awful hour at which the Sand Man finally came to me, it is no surprise that for the entirety of my life, I have not been a morning person.
However during the most difficult period of my life thus far (and I am hoping it will be the most difficult ever), sleep fought me and every weapon I had. No matter how exhausted or at what hour I climbed into bed, sleep would not find me until well past 2am, and would again wake me about 3 hours later. It was during this time that I perfected the skill of procrastination. I would distract myself with anything that could possibly put off my bedtime by another few minutes in the very least.
You all know the awful feeling of sleep standing you up. I used to toss and turn in frustration until I found it just as easy to lay quietly, with my eyes open gazing into the emptiness of my bedroom. Failing this? I would sit upright in the centre of my bed, hugging my knees... because it distracted me from the task at hand - the task that I was yet again, failing.
And so I am here creating this post for the mere purpose of procrastination. I have another doctor's appointment tomorrow in which I am hoping (and at the same time hoping NOT) to receive a diagnosis. I have this feeling of impending doom within my chest and I am continuing to relive the experiences of the tests that I underwent just the other day (let me just say that despite how brilliant the medical profession is, they still do some pretty horrible stuff to people). And so with these thoughts and feelings of worry and dread I know that this evening's slumber will not come without much persuasion. I think the only option I have left is to drink myself into a state of unconsciousness... but then I'd have a stuffed liver to add to the rest of me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment