Dear Insomnia: Bite Me

I don’t sleep. Without a job to keep me on any sort of schedule my night owl tendencies kick in. Nevermind that when I do lay down to sleep I have to put the tv on low and with a timer because if I were left to my own devices my mind would spin and spin and spin until I’d worked myself up so thoroughly I’d be to the point of tears. Focusing on every little thing I’ve failed at. Every misstep that has landed me in the spot I am now. Things I did wrong years ago. Things I did wrong that day. Perceived misdoings. Most of them, when viewed in the light of day after a full night’s rest I wouldn’t think twice about. (That’s a lie. I’d think twice and then dismiss them.)

These days, it doesn’t matter how tired I am, or how long I set the sleep timer for. Sleep evades me. Over the counter sleep aides don’t work. I can’t afford sweet, sweet Ambien and Melatonin worked for approximately two days. I am insomnia’s bitch. The few measly hours I do get a night are interrupted by noisy, intrusive mice, and throbbing joints and my body’s inability to just. fucking. sleep. So that when I do finally get up, I’m not rested. I’m irritated and sluggish and only half functioning.

I miss sleep. A lot.

So if you see me out? Kindly overlook the bags under my eyes and point me at the nearest Tempurpedic, would you?

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4 thoughts on “Dear Insomnia: Bite Me

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