Spongebob Insomnia Pants

This is a #laterpost in honor of all my friends and colleagues who suffered from evil insomnia in the past week…or ever. The picture below is an accurate representation of what I look like when dealing with insomnia. Enjoy!

It is 4 am on Friday morning. Saturday morning.

My eyes are burning, bloodshot, my head, my eyelids feel heavy. Yet, I feel like I could run a marathon (ok who am I kidding – 3 miles max).

I am painfully aware of how awake I am and have been since my head hit the pillow.

Insomnia is the place where literally the darkest secrets, the biggest fears, the greatest worries like to take up residence and play out on a never-ending loop in your head.

I have watched an entire movie.

I have read 100 pages of a 200-page book.

I have followed my breath.

I have counted sheep. goats. cows.

My fiance lays next to me–annoyingly deep asleep. He seems to have cajoled his subconscious tonight. Even with my incessant turning on/off of the lights and shifting of pillows and sheets he remains un-moving, serene, asleep.

I simultaneously want to shake him awake and tell him that sleep is impossible and it is his duty as my future husband to suffer alongside with me. And yet, I also don’t want to wake him up for fear that this insomnia is contagious (plus that would be rather rude).

I do not know why tonight of any other nights I find myself restless and at the mercy of the elusive sleep cycle.

I have already started to think about going to the gym once the sun rises (ew.)

I have already started to think about how I will need to take a nap today to survive.

I am writing this in the hope that my insomnia was triggered by something that needs my attention–maybe, just maybe–if I can figure it out, my subconscious will let its Freddy Krueger like-grip go and let me drift off to sleep.

I am also aware that I may just be having bad luck and can’t sleep a wink right now for no good reason.

I’m not sure which is more infuriating.

Everything in this room is optimized for a good night’s rest. Crisp fresh air from outside, cotton sheets, standing fan to fill the room with just the right amount of white noise, ambient lighting, dream catchers of all types, the stuffed animal crammed against my chest.

But the paranoia of all the things that could go wrong continue with every excruciating second, and minute, and hour that passes by.

I feel trapped, desperate for it to be an hour where I can move around and not continue on this obvious illusion of sleep. Two? Three? More hours?

Will I make it that long?

Will I sleep at all tonight?

Will I figure out why?

Will the Benadryl help?

Will my eyes ever want to close?

Will my body become heavy? Still?

Will this help?

Why can’t I relax?

What if nothing helps?

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