It started with the ritual of swallowing a prescription sleeping pill every Sunday. I did that for years before it got out of hand. Giving up alcohol probably contributed, as one nail drives out another—as long as the emotion is gotten rid of.
It shifted into two nights a week, then three… In the last year that I took sleeping pills regularly, there were full weeks of medicated nights, interspersed with one or two nights of natural sleep.
The more I used the pills, the more unremarkable it seemed. Here’s what was bothering me: sooner or later, I would have to increase the dosage. However, I had already reached the limit of what my inner guardrail could tolerate. I was lying to the doctor, mixing sleeping pills and tranquilizers, and arguing with myself in a daily struggle that began earlier and earlier in the day.
A strict routine sets me free. Turn off all screens an hour before bedtime. Read in bed for no more than twenty minutes—anywhere else but there. Some say, “Yet my bed is so cozy!” Is it within my power to set up the couch so as to enjoy similar comfort there? Yes. “I have trouble sleeping, so even though I know I shouldn’t, I nap on the weekend.” Is that so? I don’t. At the most, a ten- or twenty-minute catnap sitting up, but never an hour and a half, let alone lying down. Not ever.
Mind you, it may sound like I’m bragging, but I have no reason to. It didn’t happen right off the bat. God knows I’ve tried everything to stay on the road to instant wellness, and paid a hefty price.
To get by, I drew up a list of situations that absolutely justified taking a caplet. Through honest analysis, I came up with… a single result: restless leg syndrome. I hardly ever experience it, perhaps twice a year. On those nights, I use the emergency tranquilizer that I keep on hand so that I don’t wake up my partner if he’s already asleep. Yes, I asked him to hide my pills. The following morning, I do what it takes to heal. Magnesium, iron, introspection—literally: in what areas of my life do I need to move my legs, to move forward?
So even after three sleepless hours, which occurs once every five years, I’ll go read on the couch and, if necessary, doze sitting up the next day.
Because at some point, I decided that my recovery would be my highest priority. Yes, it’s hard to understand. Yes, protecting your sleep goes against the trend.
Yet what’s more miraculous than waking up rested? What’s simpler, or cheaper? And what a gift for both physical and mental health!
Admittedly, this requires dealing with persistent inquiries from incredulous people. I’m used to it with alcohol: “Not even ONE glass of wine? Not even tonight? You should live a little!” Oh, but you’re taking the words right out of my mouth!
Let’s imagine that I win the Nobel Prize. Will I be able to fall asleep the night before the ceremony? Maybe not, but I’ll be thrilled to explain the reason for the dark circles under my eyes in my acceptance speech. I might not be there without them.
photo © Erik-Jan Leusink