Ever since I can remember, I have hated sleep.
Somewhere in the far off land of home entertainment videos circa the late ‘90s, there’s documentation of me watching “Sleeping Beauty” at an ungodly hour.
It is ironic that Briar Rose would be my favorite Disney princess, despite my dislike for her famous pastime.
Let me reiterate for those of you who may assume I’m just an insomniac who has some choice words for the Sand Man. I despise sleep.
It’s not simply a matter of not being able to sleep, which I’ve had plenty of problems with, but the unwillingness to sleep at all.
As seen in the home?videos of my childhood, my parents had difficulty putting me to bed. At the infant stages, I developed a hatred for my crib and would cry, inconsolably, until I tossed myself from the wooden prison and onto the floor.
Growing up, I was always the last one to fall asleep at sleepovers. I would listen to my friends drift off, one by one, falling asleep during the middle of conversations until I was the last. Those nights, hearing their steadied breaths around me, have been some of the loneliest times in my life.
But during my young adult years, my sleep deprivation skills have become quite useful. If I’m studying for an exam at all hours of the night, I’m not at a huge disadvantage.
When I do finally sleep, I’m met with the complications of insomnia, anxiety, reoccurring nightmares, tossing and turning, constantly waking up, sleep paralysis and sometimes I wake up gasping for no reason, almost like I’ve stopped breathing.
Some of you reading may think, “Just go see a sleep specialist.” But I think my problems go beyond the physical.
In the early hours of Sunday morning, I was watching the X-Files (for those of you who don’t know me personally, I enjoy indulging in ?entertainment that’s no longer relevant).
In one of the episodes, Agent Mulder was investigating a Vietnam veteran who had the psychic ability to manipulate people’s realities. This vet was on a murder spree for his surviving platoon members who had turned rogue after undergoing a military experiment, which eradicated the need for sleep completely.
Though my eyelids would flutter, and I found my head bobbing from time to time, I refused to pause the episode and go to sleep. Instead, I felt unconvinced of the veterans’ complaints of not being able to sleep for twenty ?plus years.
Sitting here as I write this, doing the same runaround I’ve been having with my bed for years where I refuse to use it, I’m curious if I’ve mistakenly labeled this as hatred, when it’s really fear.
My father once told me I don’t want to sleep because I’m afraid I’ll miss something. In some ways, I think he’s right.
If I had the ability to never sleep like the men in the X-Files, I could see so many things. I could read all the books I’ve ever wanted. I could graduate with two degrees in three years. In a way, I could live two lifetimes instead of just one. Or I could just watch more of the X-Files.
Ultimately, my opinion on sleep is that it’s a health concern that’s also a waste of time, like flossing. But I’ve come to the conclusion that this columnist needs to change her opinion.
Maybe it’s time I do some soul searching and reevaluate my feelings about sleep. I’ll get some rest, feel refreshed and call a sleep clinic tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll watch just one more episode.
maehogan@indiana.edu
