Sleep

After years of research we still do not know exactly why we sleep. People afflicted with genetic disorders that robs them of sleep will die within weeks. Insomnia has driven many of us crazy and frustrated to the point of dreading the head hitting the pillow. For me, sleep has been a considerably aggravating phenomenon, one that has concerned me since I was 6.

One of the best Christmas presents I had ever gotten was the Snoopy Racetrack. It was common for my sister and I to be poring over the Sears catalogue by November, and this year my anticipation for my intended gift had come true. The magnetized track ran on batteries, and pulled Snoopy, Woodstock, Charlie Brown, and Lucy up the steep incline, then pushed it down the opposing slope through its intended path. Less than a week had come and gone before it was destroyed by my own doing. I was devastated, and the first signs of me distrusting my own body, and mind.

Sleep terrors are experienced by most children, but they tend to long fade away by the time they hit double digits. In my case, I not only experienced terrifying nightmares, I would most oftentimes act out my fearful experiences in the form of walking about, sometimes running, and usually accompanied with a blood curdling scream. The Snoopy Racetrack was the first victim of my altered state, and it began an intense desire to control myself, to analyze how my days would go, and most importantly become extremely self-absorbed and introspective.

My family, on the other hand, had become so accustomed to it they would rarely tell me that anything happened. I could only assume it was such a regular occurrence that they paid no attention. Once I had taken a wrong turn in my sleep, and proceeded to pee on my sister instead; it wasn't until her boyfriend Rod brought it up to tease me that I had any clue of it happening. Perhaps they didn't want to hurt me, or make me any more self-conscious about it.

A particularly poignant memory that told a tale of adolescent acceptance among peers happened in Grade 7. A somewhat popular Colin Campbell had invited me over for the weekend after getting permission from my folks. I still remember us riding our bikes through town and the novelty of it all. Of course we stayed up late talking, and I never recalled actually falling asleep. Morning came, and I got up to play with the cats while Colin still slept. My dad soon came knocking at the door, and Colin's mom nonchalantly knocked on the bedroom door and told me of his arrival. Pleasant goodbyes belied the truth as to what really happened that night.

Rod Bruntjen was the messenger, and I wanted to kill him. He was quick to share with me at my locker on a Monday morning that the whole school knew that something crazy happened Saturday night at Colin's. Rod said that, sometime in the early morning, I jumped up on the bed, and started screaming about computers. Colin's mom was supposedly mortified, not knowing what to do. Upon hearing what happened, my immediate response was to lay a grudge down on Colin for betraying my trust. He had obviously failed to keep a secret that was never discussed. In reality, I felt so embarrassed and exposed, I simply decided to never allow anyone to have that kind of power over me again. Failing to tell anyone in the house about my condition was the real key to this entire misunderstanding.

Spending most nights at friends was fraught with wishes of simply a quiet, relaxed sleep. It seemed everyone was ok with it except me. I made it mean that I was a defect and I shouldn't be spending anytime over at anybody's house. It was just an excuse, and a scapegoat for my overall feelings of inadequacies. Life sometimes would turn into elaborate ploys of manipulating my days so that I could guarantee no sleep talking. As it was tied to stress, I intentionally put a lid on my expression of life, just so I could avoid an embarrassing situation later on.

The stress of 3rd year university turned out to be one of the most terrifying sleep terrors, and consequent bodily harm, of my entire existence. With a full course load, and being the President of a student club, I had no doubt been under an exorbitant amount of stress. Often, a dream of being chased would end up with a startled scream, but not this night in October. After seeing an attacker in my mind, I had awoken, and despite knowing it was a dream, still felt compelled to run out of my dorm room and down the hall. The hall door had a small window made of security glass, a thick pane strung with metal wire for strength. Slamming this door into the concrete wall behind had broken the glass with a bang, and led to me fully waking up, huffing to catch my breath, and wondering how I was to explain my actions. As blood started dripping down my forehead, I realized my troubles were slightly more serious.

Three other guys on the floor were out of their rooms and assessing the damage. Joe had noticed a lot of blood around, and as I was leaning over the bathroom sink, I noticed it had to becoming from something more substantial. After a quick body search, my right forearm happened to be the source, and a massive gash seemed to go down to the bone. Immediately going into shock, I had to rely on Joe to get me to Emergency, where a 3 hour wait concluded with a doctor disbelievingly rolling his eyes upon hearing the cause of my injuries. Numerous stitches in my arm, and forehead were followed by a few weeks of embarrassment again, and self-hatred amongst my peers.

All I wanted was to fit in, and I had this condition that stopped me from doing that. At the time though, I always held out hope that I could control it. Nowadays, I do not.