Insomnia. Friend or foe?

9 Aug

I just realized why it’s so often that I can’t go to sleep even though I’m beat. (Other than the fact that my sleep cycle changes at least 4 times a year, and I have a problem turning off my brain or ignoring certain pains.) It’s the quiet. The peaceful, dark quiet. It’s a rarity in my life right now, and I’m enjoying it every chance I can get.

Seriously, folks, I never thought I’d count sleep problems as a blessing. Right now, though, I’m listening to the dry leaves blowing in the wind outside my window, and reveling in the perfect quiet of the building. All day I’ve been on edge, despite my efforts to focus on gratitude, immerse myself in work, and talk to the people I love. It’s been one of those days that I could go from screaming to crying to laughing to silent within a matter of minutes. In case you’d like to know, it’s partly due to my hormones, which are easily scrambled, even by medication that’s supposed to be the same thing I was taking before that worked so well but cost nearly $100 a month. Anyway, I sit here, typing, listening to the most subtle sounds, and I realize that I’m calm. Ok, so maybe that’s part Elavil, but I’m not kidding when I say that I absolutely cannot get away from the noise in this place during the day. Not even in our apartment, old and thin-skinned as it is.

Here’s something you may know all to well or you may not know at all about FMS: symptoms include light and sound sensitivity. I got a double whammy of that with the epilepsy, I think. Even though I’ve become accustomed to the ringing phones, slamming doors, loud group conversation, other various (usually electronic) noises, and bright fluorescent lights,  it’s very clear to me once they’re gone how the unstoppable assault on my senses not only slowly chips away at my sanity, but affects me physically.

Unfortunately, due to the physical and mental limitations that have become my norm, leaving the apartment also replaces any energy I have with fatigue and anxiety. The grass is always greener. I guess some would say the grass is brown on both sides, but I’m for optimism all the way.

So, I sit here, soaking up the silence.

Close my eyes, let it lap at my feet like waves.

And drift out into a sea of rest.

Gentle hugs,

Chels

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