I can’t wait until going to bed feels normal again. I hate dreading bedtime and laying in bed awake, just waiting for exhaustion to take over. I hate the feeling of tension and overwhelming sense of impending tears that sometimes are just too much to take and the subsequent dryness of the salt on my skin.
I miss the touch of a familiar leg against my foot and the way my body would twitch in comfort of safety as my brain shut off. I miss the familiar sounds. It’s too quiet in here. I thought perhaps I’d sleep better once I wasn’t lifted from a deep sleep by frequent tossing and turning, but, the truth is, I sleep worse now than I think I ever have. I’ve never had this much difficulty turning off a light, rolling over, and closing my eyes to a welcome sleep. I always slept well and easily in the past. I could be sound asleep in 15 minutes or less.
Now I’m lucky to get a solid three hours of sleep before waking up and wondering if I missed my alarm. It’s been just under three months and for no other reason than emotional disturbance, I’ve had only one or two decent nights of sleep.
I’ve tried hot decaffeinated tea, warm milk and honey, Benadryl, and other often trusted suggestions. I tried working out, including tonight, but to no avail, here I sit, tears streaming down my face, empty-hearted, and sleepless.
No matter my brain’s understanding, my heart hasn’t caught up. It’s often the plans that are hard to shake and the habits that are hard to break.