I've had trouble sleeping ever since I was little. The reasons may have varied, but the problem still existed. Don't go getting the wrong idea - I wasn't some doped up baby that was addicted to sleep aids to try to get some shut-eye. Actually, I was never allowed to take a sleep-aid. Huh - that probably could have solved this whole mess, couldn't it have? Ah, well.
When I was a wee five year-old, I would lie awake for hours on end with the covers over my head. Why, you ask? I feared some man would pop out of my closet or my window and end up being an axe murderer. Thank you, cable television. At any rate, my mother's advice was to turn and sleep on my side, facing the wall. Where the advice came from, I have no idea, but I suppose there was some logic in it.
When I was about ten years old, I suffered from a recurring nightmare - a very, very, very odd nightmare (let's just say it consisted of gigantic spools of thread and a grandmother wearing a football uniform). I would apparently venture into my brother's room, drag him out of bed under the pretense of being too scared to walk down the hall to the bathroom alone and then jump down and scream, "He's coming! We have to run!". I would then fall to a complete breakdown and would end up crying myself to sleep with my mother. I was an odd child, to say the least.
When I was fifteen, I suffered from boy-mania - though, I wouldn't dare tell my parents this (I cringe as I write this, in fear that my father may skim it and come down to yell about not focusing on studies. I was studying...it just included studying boys). I would lie awake in bed for hours thinking about the romantic adventures that were to grace me someday (though, it never really happened). My father (who would simply say "You're thinking about too much.") suggested that I think of an imaginary chalkboard and to take an eraser and wipe away all of the thoughts. Well, the chalkboard thought didn't work so well...the screetching killed me, inside. So with a few key adjustments (to a modern day whiteboard), I gave it a try.
When I was seventeen years-old (and a senior in high school), I was stressed out of my mind. Instead of lying in bed having wandering thoughts, I was up all night working, studying, stressing, and, of course, Facebooking. My brother's solution? GET OFF FACEBOOK. If you know me, you know that I completely disregarded this piece of advice.
And now? Now, I'm lying in bed, at age nineteen, writing this in my head (transcribed the next morning). That's my new problem (along with a mixture of all of the above problems which continue to plague me - minus the nightmare. I beat that spool of thread into the ground.). I write. I write at night when all of the lights are off and I'm warm and cozy in my bed - the thoughts just come to me. And so, instead of drifting off to sleep with a smile on my face, I am forced to play out the ideas that pop into my head. Half of them don't even make it to paper (or to computer screen, rather), but just in case, I write it all out in my head. Doesn't seem like such a bad alternative in comparison to my past sleep-depriving activities. What advice shall be thrown my way, now? Anything? Bloggers? Perhaps there is no advice needed, this time.
So, I say to you, sweet dreams and good night. I'm off to a land filled with words and baggy eyes.
