Bed Bugs

Isn't that the truth.

I've struggled with sleep since I was a little girl. It is my favorite thing to do yet the hardest thing for me to attain. I've found that many people claim to understand saying, "Oh yeah, I know you're pain! I'm a total insomniac!!" And I'm not upset that they say they are in the same boat as I am.  

Not at all.  In fact, this boat loves passengers.  All aboard!

It is just such a letdown when I call my fellow "insomniacs" at an ungodly hour only to hear their voicemail.  And, at that point, I'm tempted to have full-blown conversation with the message machine.

Maybe I'd talk about how tonight I noticed that I hate the color of my sheets or ask if they know what brilliant person invented pillows or knew why my television is currently the most annoying person on the planet and, unfortunately, my only choice in company.  

But then the voicemail would have to be heard by someone who wakes up well-rested, sanity intact, and, well, I really don't want to explain to them why I honestly don't need a therapist.

It's sad to say there are few I've encountered who can understand how this terrible curse (because at this point I feel that's what it is) is not so cool to have. It doesn't make me more mysterious or creative and (much to twilighter's dismay) it doesn't even make me a sexy vampire. 

In fact, it leaves me with dark half moons under my eyes and a need for coffee like a newborn needs a bottle.  Although, my most creative ideas do run through my mind after midnight but I'm usually trying to convince myself I'm too tired to get out of bed to write them down. And if it were just one or two thoughts it would be no problem to remember them in the morning but, the truth is, my thoughts run rampant at night.

It seems as if thousands dance on my memory, their footprints touching just light enough to keep me interested but not firm enough to leave imprints of their shadows.

When did it start?

I know exactly when. It started with the dreams.

Those awful and haunting dreams. I'm not even sure where they first stemmed from -- all I know is that they planted a very dark flower.

The most vivid scenes of hurt, hate and, worst of all, helplessness. The worst of them leave me momentarily paralyzed, unable to speak or move, similar to a tug-of-war between the relief of reality and the dread of being pulled back into the darkness.

I know it sounds dramatic but if you have experienced this kind of pull you know that this is explaining the battle lightly.

So, what to do?

Pills. That's always the answer, right?

Well, no thank you.

I believe my mind, body and soul are just as strong as any 'I get awsome sleep' sleepers and are perfectly capable of winning this fight. Pills will simply numb the conscious and send me into dreamless black sheets, followed by unforgiving rays of light tapping on my window.

To me, these battles are within and as real as the nights they claim. I've learned to deal and will keep doing so. Besides, some nights I am blessed with a dream of beauty and inspiration.. and they offer more healing and promise than any nightmare could ever intimidate.

Sleep tight; don't let the bed bugs bite.