When Your Favorite Activity Goes Wrong…
I write here often about my sleeping habits; how once I deem that I’m tired I can lapse into unconsciousness on command. Hell, if I wanted to, I could nap while riding my horse and eating sushi at the same time. Only if I did that, I worry about who would put my saddle away.
Sometimes, however, sleep becomes an issue for me. I crawl into my luxurious warm bed, with its flannel-y soft sheets that smell of fabric softener. I cuccoon myself into my blankets, and shut my eyes. And then I don’t sleep.
Over the years, I’ve developed a number of unhealthy ways to deal with this. A drink or two has always made me drowsy. Simply not sleeping until the following night sometimes works. (But the last time I tried that, it kind of backfired when I ended up going four days consecutively without a wink of sleep. I’m sure the hospital kept good documentation of it.)
I battle with the issue I have when I can’t sleep; that issue being, Dammit, Girl. Why don’t you just take the medecines that were prescribed to you to make you sleep?
I have a lot of fears surrounding my meds. I’m scared that they’re unproven and will make me die of brain cancer. (Because, Hell, I’m a smoker. I only want to die of lung cancer, dammit!) I’m afraid that I will sleep too deeply and miss out on some sort of emergency. (Because my normal a-heard-of-elephants-can’t-wake-me sleep doesn’t make me have that fear. Right.)
I’m forever choosing a part of myself to work on. I know where my problem areas lie and I know what my strengths and weaknesses are. This past week, I’ve been battling with my inability to sleep and my need to accept that I’ve been prescribed medecine to help me with that problem.
And I know it makes sense to take medecine for a sickness (And I strongly believe that an inability to sleep when needed falls into the realm of sickness.)
I think it just drives me batty that I need to convince myself to take the necessary steps to help me stay healthy.
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