The problem with sleep, I find, is that it requires you to let go. To accept the circumstances of your reality, at least enough to feel comfortable being unconscious for 8 hours at a time. To feel that things are in some sense ok, or at least they will be at some point in the future. That things are, more or less, under control.
And I haven’t had that feeling, for so long. Nearly 15 years now. And it’s been getting worse and worse as I age. As whatever irrational youthful optimism I once had drains away.
I need something to tell myself, to convince myself that in some sense, at some point, things will be ok. I have nothing. No partner. No real friends. No hope of finding any kind of intimacy, or meaningful relationship. No prospect of a meaningful career or work that isn’t insecure. No hope of ever being free of physical pain and discomfort.
What can I whisper to myself, in the darkest hours before the dawn, too tired to distract myself but unable to fall asleep?
“Some day, this will all be over. You will die, and that’ll probably be the end. Your brain will cease to function, and there will be no more thoughts. No more desires, regrets, longing, fear, loneliness, pain. Just decomposition, and then transformation into different forms of life, with other concerns. What need would the buzzing, wriggling, writhing mass have for fixation on what could’ve been? In place of this pointless misery will be the rawness of blind life, unencumbered by thought, consuming and churning on in its endless struggle to multiply and spread.”
That’s about the best I can hope for. To end my existence, and be replaced by organisms too simple for neuroses. And for the space I fill in society to be occupied be someone more well-adjusted, and able to make the most of the resources I consume.
And the prospect doesn’t do much for me. It’s insufficient to cling to. There’s no warm & fuzzy feeling. Not even really a resigned peace at the thought. Who knows how long I’ll have to wait for such an end? Another 5,000 nights? 10,000? And how much worse will it get before the end?
3 comments
are you doing anything about it? Any of it? I’m too viscious towards life, I need to let off attack for eight hours just to retain some sense of mercy towards myself. Really, if I sleep less than six a night I’m in the hospital almost immediately, so I feel a bit less optimistic about sleep than you make it sound.
It’s a dry run at death for me, the parts of my brain that irritate me the most turn off and it’s a nice break. I’m more in control unconscious than I am awake, most days.
that’s my motivation for saying what are you doing about it. Because that’s what being awake is, doing something about stuff. That’s what it’s for, usually it’s lousy at it in the modern day, hence my preference towards sleep. When I’ve been near death for eight hours, it’s forgivable that I’ve accomplished nothing apart from the barest rest. Under is the only way the world looks right to me.
If it was me I’d be doing something about it. Well, truth be told I wouldn’t, I’d let the spiral completely take me out then other people would do something about it. That’s not working though, when others fail to appear to assist, one has to interfere yourself.
I’d just do something about the sleep thing. Your brain without enough of it is in an altered state of consciousness, not a pleasant one.
You’re making assessments from a place of being caught up in how unhappy you are about the situation, which is perfectly valid, but emotion is a poor coprocessor. Add in that stress and lack of sleep are the two biggest things to neutralize your frontal lobe. The frontal lobe is the part of the brain that makes decisions, makes plans.
and granted I’m taking everything you say at face value. How things are and how they appear can be pretty far apart. We’ve already established I spend as little time directly taking in reality as I must. I’m paid for it, when I have to.
indefinite thinking doesn’t help though, does it? You really think you’ll keep trudging right up til the end? That’d be something, wouldn’t it? A certain amount of determination worthy of pride I’d say.
The day is probably coming sooner that you are unable to work. If you live long enough, you’ll hit that, we all do. I spend most of my days knee deep in that. Most people spend at least a decade unable to work, waiting to die.
Nothing productive, at least not most of the time.
I know, lack of sleep = bad. The point is that I’ve lost the ability to switch off, without the aid of sleeping pills, which further reduce my ability to function the next day. Night-time is when all my demons catch up with me. The people I’ve lost, the opportunities missed, and the absences in my life. It swirls round and round tormenting me till early morning. Then maybe I finally get a couple of hours of undrugged sleep. And wake up feeling wretched. It sucks, and I don’t want to do endure it anymore.
I doubt I’ll ever have any kind of pension, so when I’m unable to work, I’m probably done.
I get so little real sleep I don’t even recognize who I am anymore