That Bastard Sleep

Sometime in college a troubling trend developed. My last year or so I stayed at the brand new New Pride Apartments. Four of us roomed together, but had separate bedrooms. I tried scheduling classes so that I could take an afternoon nap after lunch before going back to class and then to work. I had blankets up in my windows so very little light got in and I would nap. Often times I'd play a Dido album I downloaded from Audio Galaxy (please tell me that the statute of limitations for pirating music has passed).

My naps would typically last from 45 minutes to up to an hour and a half. Depends on the day of the week. I had downloaded an alarm clock program (before we called them apps, they were programs) onto my computer. It went off in the morning and at my scheduled time in the afternoon. The song I chose to wake up to was “Bodies” by Drowning Pool.

Such an effective song to get yourself ready to stare down whatever obstacles may confront you that day. The alarm would play the song all the way through and then stop. Sometimes though, I didn't get up. I was awake mentally and visually, but my body refused to abandon slumber. This freaked me the hell out.

I would just stare at the door. The first couple times this happened I tried to speak, to call for help but my lips denied me. They would not move, my lungs and diaphragm refused to cooperate. I just lay there helpless trying so desperately to budge. Sometimes I swore I could see silhouettes. Not often, but sometimes I lay so frightened as the shape of a menacing man just glared at me, taunting me and my lame body. I would struggle silently, breath so hollow, my heart beating in my ears. I couldn't even fight back should the mysterious figure attack.

Was this all a nightmare? Was I in fact dreaming this, imagining an imminent attack? Maybe sometimes, particularly with the appearances of the potential violent invader. But the other times were so genuine. I know the difference between reality and false awakenings, or at least I believed I did.

I was completely aware of the time, my surroundings, any noises on the other side of my door. I had complete situational cognizance. My eyes were open and body part by body part I would try to coax it to wiggle, to twitch, to do anything at my command. But for what felt like eternity I was motionless. Was I dead? Dying? Would John, or Nick, or Maurice discover my corpse? Would my parents discover my porn collection on my computer? “Oh God,” I would think to myself, “I know you are there, even if we aren't on the best of terms, but please help me. Oh God please help me.”

I continued to have these incidents for several years after college. All the way up until around the time I met my future wife. I would be fearful of sleep, even when I wouldn't have an episode for months. I couldn't let my guard down. Relaxation was a practice of hesitant escape. Escape from the same tired routine.  Good grief my life was mostly fruitless.  Fantasy should have been a welcome retreat.  Dreams of what I could be or what I could have came at a price.  A price I was not always wanting to pay.

This was all compounded by the handful of times I suffered from obstructive sleep apnea. The first time was the worst of course. I had no clue what was happening. I woke sitting straight up gasping for air as I was choking. My throat burned and my chest pounded. Sleep, just wasn't safe. It was like a real life Nightmare on Elm Street for me.

When I'd “wake” from my sleep paralysis I was shaken. The time was exactly what I knew it was in my “dream”. When I was suffering from my still life I had to just sit up while my breathing and heart rate normalized. I'd thank God for bringing me back, I'd go to to class, or work, or wherever it was I had to do be. Life moves on, even when clutched from the biting jaws of terror.

The condition of course was self-fulfilling. Even when I didn't wake to nothingness, I often dreamt about it in anxious anticipation of what might be. That was nearly as bad, nearly as real.

For probably four years I was harrassed by those slumber demons. And then they stopped. I didn't realize it right away, but the freedom was certainly appreciated and a joy to cherish. I am thankful for their absence, but vigilant. Peaceful sleep must never be taken for granted. I don't know why they came and went, but I am grateful.

Me passed out in my bed at home, 2002.

If I had to pick a single song for this post it would be...