Insomnia has not been my friend, of late. Most of my life, I've been a light sleeper, and five or six hours of sleep a night has been the norm. These days, though, a lack of sleep is nibbling away at my vitality and sanity.
Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I have barely had the energy to enjoy it. When I lamented to Chuck that I just wanted to sleep one whole day last weekend, but I didn't want to miss fall, he reminded me that "One day does not an autumn make."
Insomnia convinces me that I am not enough. That I cannot accomplish my goals. That I am not worthy of feeling well. That I don't deserve to dream my dreams. It zaps my energy, and dampens my spirit.
Insomnia sounds like terminal silence. A silence that is louder than the hum of a house with its electrical currents coursing through it.
Insomnia looks like unsorted laundry, and unmade beds, and unswept floors, and unwashed dishes. It looks like the glow of a phone in the middle of the night.
Insomnia smells stagnant and old, possessing the unsavory qualities of morning breath and stale milk.
Insomnia tastes like the last bite of dessert; without flavor and completely unsatsifying. Insomnia tastes like desire; always seeking pleasure in food, and never finding satisfaction in eating.
Insomnia feels like loneliness and lethargy. It feels heavy, and full of disappointment.
It's hard to "rise and shine" at two in the morning, but I love that time of day, and try to enjoy the quiet of the house. I savor my coffee, spend some time reading, and look forward to a nap later in the day. Some days I just have to caffeinate, and hope for the best.
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