It is only now that I realize just how much of a luxury it actually is.
Sam is a sometimes-insomniac, and I never could understand his problem. What do you mean you can't just close your eyes and fall asleep? Here, let me show you. And though I would hardly classify myself as an insomniac now, I am finding it progressively harder to fall back asleep after Grr cries and barks some time in the night. Even if Sam takes him out and I just lay in bed, eyes closed and waiting for them to come back, I am most definitely awake.
Last night was the worst. Grr woke up and rattled his crate at 1:00, 3:30, and 5:30. We tried to ignore it, which only resulted in escalated pleas for attention. And we probably made the biggest mistake in the book, but we got up and took him out, which quieted him for some time. Still, it took me an inordinate amount of time to fall back asleep after each interruption because as tired as I was, I was also filled with anger. Why was he crying again? He has shown that he can hold his pee for much longer than two fucking hours! What are we doing wrong? Can the neighbors hear? I hate this fucking dog!! So I laid there and tried not to move, tried to regulate my breathing, sing songs to myself, recount an episode of Friends from years ago, anything to reroute my brain so it doesn't focus on how unhappy I am with my life.
See, when I'm tired, it's not just that I can't wake up to go to the gym, can't focus at work, can't help but think of the next time my head touches a pillow. When I'm tired, I can't defend myself against this constantly encroaching sadness, this darkness that reaches into my heart. And lately, there has been so much.
When I'm tired now, I don't have an answer to the question, "What am I grateful for?" I just spent an innumerable amount of time awake and begging for sleep to come, only to drive it away as soon as it approaches, so gratitude is not exactly top-of-mind. I've repeatedly thought about stopping this blog experiment; slowly, I have found it more and more difficult to find the time to keep at it, and the rewards of doing so diminish. But should I do that, should I fail at this blog, I would only be heaping it atop the growing pile of remnants I have discarded from my earlier, happier life. Just one more thing to add, one more thing I've lost. . .
When I'm tired now, this ever-swirling unhappiness invites darker thoughts: this dog has done absolutely nothing but subtract hours from my sleep each night and hundreds from our bank account each week; he has stripped away my desire to do even the things I once enjoyed; and finally, the genesis: I never wanted this dog in the first place, which makes me feel trapped, not only as a dog owner, but as a member of this family altogether.
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Insomnia is lonely; I never realized it until last night. The suffering is real, but there is no one to witness it, no bruises to show for the struggle. All I could do was lay there, as still as possible while my thoughts race from idea to idea, my heart pounding at the sound of Grr's jingling collar tags, knowing that in a few seconds, a whimper will likely tear through the loft and into my head.
A few days ago, I woke up with a little tickle in the back of my throat, that old familiar feeling I usually recognize as the harbinger of a cold. And I wanted so much for that cold to come, that fever to set in and knock me off my feet. How else could I effectively demonstrate just how impaired I feel inside?
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