“Sleep
To Hide From Pain; Sleep To Escape From Depression”
03/05/14
To
my dear, dear friends, and always constant readers,
To the best of my failing recollection, even in high
school I had a schedule that was predictable, reliable, and relatively free
form stress.
I would arrive home after school, and then spend the
next few hours half-heartedly looking at what homework I had, and playing with
my dog, King.
In time, my mother and father would come home from
work, and preparations for supper would begin.
Afterwards—especially with my folks there—I would again glance-over what
homework that I did have.
The balance of the evenings were spent conversing
with my mom and dad, and—as evening turned into night—I felt a natural tiredness,
having had a full day of occupation.
Although I had a nighttime curfew, it was
unnecessary, as—by ‘bedtime’—I found myself yawning and sleepy.
I do not remember anything that disturbed me from getting
into bed; and after a few minutes given over to getting settled-in, I would
without difficulty fall into a full sleep that lasted all night long.
This was such a seemingly natural process that, frankly,
I never gave it much thought, nor was I (as I would be later) particularly
grateful.
Shortly after college, I began a twenty-five year ‘career’
working in health care, and in mental health…all on the night shift.
Now, there are several reasons that bring employees
to work nights; some had small children at home, and/or spouces who worked
during the day.
Others were—frankly—misfits who could find steady
employment no other place, and on no other shift.
I worked nights because it gave me the autonomy I
craved, with no one, particularly always looking over my shoulder, or breathing
down my neck. I knew my job, and did it
well, giving to the various positions I worked 120% of my interest and effort.
And while everyone is expendable (as so well
evidenced in these times), I still was able to speak my mind. And whenever a nurse, or a supervisor, or an Administrator
got out of line, were stupid, or were in general jerks, I confronted them as
harshly as I needed to.
Funny, but in all those years, I was never fired, or
suspended.
My clients—many of whom had no family, or who had no
family that cared about them—often considered me their family. And they loved me fully as much as I loved
them.
They knew my schedule better than did I; whenever I
was off on vacation, or away on sick time, they were, I think, genuinely
concerned about my health, and when I would return.
But night shift exacts a dreary toll on one’s
health, and mental well-being.
I found it almost impossible to sleep during the
day; surrounded in full by a world that constantly boomed and made noise.
Then—too—I believe—is the evolutionally dictates to
sleep when it’s dark, and to be awake when the sun comes up. That is in itself a long, and established history
that the night shift (established in WWII to meet production demands) could
ever hope to overcome.
I tried to make my bedroom as dark as was possible,
with light-blocking shades, sheers, and heavy curtains. At one point, I even wore a sleep mask to
make-believe that it was nighttime.
For a while, I was young, and could withstand the
rigors of an aberrant, and unnatural wake/sleep cycle. But time and advancing years proved to be the
enemy.
I was tired all the time, and exhausted much of the
time.
Winter was the worst. While driving home in the morning, with the
car’s heat and defrost on, I would get so sleepy that at least on three
occasions, I ran off the road, recovering just in time to avid an accident.
In 2002, when I was forty-eight, my world as I knew
it exploded and was completely destroyed.
A simple, botched, dental procedure went horribly,
horribly wrong. I was consumed in a pain
the kind of which I had never before known.
I couldn’t eat.
I couldn’t sleep, yet I found it impossible to get out of bed. All night long I would cower in agony,
trembling and afraid, saying what ragged prayers that I could.
I one month, I lost thirty pounds, and even though I
was finally being treated by a professional, I began to have these awful panic
attacks.
With it came a depression so severe, that I had to
be hospitalized for it.
During the past twelve years of my disability, life—as
I had ever known it—was changed, pulled, stretched out of recognition, altered
beyond recognition, and with it developed a diminishing.
I have since lost interest in so many, many things.
When I awake, it is to a static world; my day lies
before me like a prison sentence; and my only schedule—now—are to the few
doctors that I must see, and mostly to medication times; for the medications
have loomed large in my life.
My
front door and patio doors might as well be blocked by force fields, so seldom
do I venture out.
I am afraid.
Afraid. (And will—I hope—address that fear in another entry).
Every evening, I know that I want to go to bed, and
to sleep. I take everything I can to
make me drowsy.
My bedroom has become a sort of battleground, where
sleep is broken, torn apart by nightmares, or unsettled thought.
Or, too frequent awakenings. Or bathroom calls.
Alone—with the roar of my disquieting thoughts, I
crave the kind of sleep that restores.
But would most gladly settle for the kind of sleep that detaches one
from pain; hiding form the pain.
Oh, but could I sleep to escape from the
depression. That knowing that each
morning—when I reluctantly awake—this ‘new’ day will be the same. As tortured as was the one previous.
Several weeks ago, my cousin gave me a little tomato
plant to keep on my back deck. How can
it realize that its existence lies solely with my ability…or inability to go
out to water it.
I can see it through the glass door, yet often
cannot bring myself to open it and go outside.
Oh, my dearest friends, what is the answer? Where is help and wellness?
I very much look forward to (and rely) upon your
most kind and supportive comments.
I wish for you lambent days, free of pain, or of
lessened pain. Peaceable, quiet days,
surrounded by those who love you.
And oh…how I wish so much for you balmy, and
enjoyable evenings, and nights of wonderfully restorative sleep, as ever
watched over, and kept safe by guardian angels!
Please
know that I think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!
‘Zahc’/Charles
