Deadly Sleep
Growing up, I was always proud of how little sleep I needed. It used to be a way to compare value as a student. Six hours of sleep became five, which then became four, then three, then two, and now less. At what point do you say, I'm taking a nap, instead of I'm going to sleep? How utterly damaging is it to sleep less than a full REM cycles worth a night? Yet we praised each other for it as adolescents.
Now as an adult, the night is too tempting to waste. It's silence. Darkness. Secrets. The intoxicating allure of having time all to myself with no responsibilities or worries. It's a dance with the devil.
Chronic exhaustion is livable and that's why it's dangerous. It's a form of self harm nobody sees. Just because there is no bleeding, burning, rapid weight gain or loss, doesn't mean it isn't real. I sit on the couch staring at the wall, watching it breathe and pulsate like it did when I was on psychedelics, but in this moment, I am completely sober. I see movement out of my peripheral vision that causes my heart to race when in reality nothing moved. I turn my head too fast and it feels like my body has been thrown overboard into the raging sea. Words and objects become fuzzy at the edges like I'm intoxicated, but again, I'm sober.
And the worst part of it all? I know what I'm doing to myself. I know the lasting effects of sleep deprivation and yet I just.. don't care. I would rather have more time to stare into the void than... rest. And why? Because I don't think I deserve the luxury? Because I can't allow myself to feel good?
How do you fix what's broken when you aren't even sure what it looks like when fixed?