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Boston, Kansas, Foreigner, Heart, Starship, REO Speedwagon, Journey, Survivor, Bob Seger, Brian Adams, The Eagles, Little River Band, 38 Special, Asia, Fleetwood Mac, Styx, Bruce Springteen, Tom Petty, and Bad Company
Hi, Cherry,
So sorry to hear about your insomnia. We, as insomniacs, are the only ones who do know how you feel and what you're going through. People without it don't care if we sleep or not.
Last month (September) my insomnia turned 31 years old. I'm living proof that you can get through life with this dreaded, evil condition. But I know that doesn't help your situation much. And that's one problem we have as insomniacs–there's little that we can do to help each other, except to offer verbal support, or in this case, written support. Insomnia Land is a great tool for those of us living a life of sleeplessness.
Life is tough enough, but when we add insomnia to the mix it gets downright miserable. Lots of times I've finally fallen asleep around 5 a.m. only to hear the alarm clock screaming at me 30 minutes later: TIME TO GET UP AND GO TO WORK!!!
In my case, I sought medical help, and I learned to adapt. Life goes on even with insomnia. Like most people, I've had work or school or family, and for a good portion of my life all three at the same time, that have demanded my attention. They've expected me to be there for them, and I've had to be there regardless of how much or how little sleep I've had the night before. I won't kid you, the life of a chronic insomniac is a tough one.
In your post, you sound desperate. I want you to know that you can get through your insomnia, but if for some reason it doesn't go away, you can learn to live with it. Thousands of us have. Please keep us posted on your situation.
Mike
I'm here. I love the NFL. Pro football, drag racing, and bowling are the only sports I care about watching. I live in Ft. Worth, so I'm required by law to be a Cowboys fan. Although I like other teams, too. The Colts for one. I turned off the last Superbowl about half-way through the fourth quarter because I couldn't stand to see Manning and his boys lose.
I grew up in southern Illinois as a St. Louis Cardinal (football, not baseball) fan when they were worthless. They're only a little better now. With Warner gone, they'll probably once again become basement dwellers.
My apologies to everyone on the chat for leaving so abruptly. I clicked on my monitor screen accidentally, and the chat screen disappeared. The “click here” button wouldn't let me back in.
I'll know what not to do next time. Any plans for another one, Martin?
Back when my insomnia was about six years old (about 1985), I was still awake at 3:30 one morning. I'd been trying to fall asleep as we all do, but I couldn't.
I was pacing the floor wondering how I was going to face yet another day of little or no sleep. I was so fed up with not sleeping that I kicked the foot rest of our living room recliner with my left foot. The impact was on the joint of my big toe. It hurt then, and it still hurts 25 years later.
If I drop something on it or bump it against something, the pain is severe. Over the years it's developed a knot, and the knot keeps getting bigger. It's growing slowly, but growing nonetheless.
I complained about it to my doctor a couple of years ago. He had it X-rayed, but found nothing. One day last year I tried on a pair of cowboy boots. When I slid my left foot in that tight leather, I nearly screamed. I'm not a western-wear kind of person, but I do like cowboy boots. But now I can't even wear them.
Just this past two weeks I've been trying to break in a new pair of work shoes. It's been tough going. I've had to stretch the left shoe every night just to get it over my foot the next day.
I've been taking my old work shoes with me every day. I can make it about 4 to 5 hours with my new shoes and then I have to change into my old ones.
My job requires me to do a lot of walking, which I know doesn't help my condition. I've placed a bid on a tractor-trailer driving job within the company I work for. If I get it, the wear and tear on my foot will be lessened quite a bit.
And just think…without insomnia I wouldn't have all of this “fun” stuff to write about. What would I do without my insomnia?
I know what you mean about the carbs. For many years I stayed pumped up on sugar and caffeine. After a bad night, I would start the bad day with strong coffee and a lot of sugar-sweetened cereal. After I got to work I'd drink more coffee.
Along about 10 or 11 am, I'd start having minor tremors and shake for the remainder of the day. In the afternoon I'd buy from the candy and coke machines–just to get through the day.
So, by bedtime, guess what, I was so pumped up I couldn't fall asleep. Then I'd take a dalmane to try to sleep. The next morning the whole cycle would start over. This period of my life was when I was working in automotive repair. I hated my life in the '80s. I hated just about everything and everybody, except for my daughter. Life was extremely difficult back then, but I didn't realize it until years later. I hesitate to say this, but I thought about suicide everyday. Of course, I'm glad I never worked up the nerve to follow through.
Really, the only thing I did like in the '80s was the Rock 'n Roll music of the day: Heart, Journey, Mr. Mister, REO Speedwagon, Mike and the Mechanics, Phil Collins–with and without Genesis, Chicago, Kansas, Boston, Styx, The Little River Band, et al.
Occasional insomnia might be maskable (Is maskable a word?). But I think chronic insomnia is difficult to mask. We all know that insomnia is a bigger creature than we, ourselves, are. It's all-encompassing; no area of life goes untouched. Grouchiness and irritability go hand in hand with chronic insomnia.
I've never been able to mask mine, at least to those who know me personally. Especially when I was taking dalmane back in the '80s. That stuff turned me into a monster that I never thought I could be.
At that time I worked as a mechanic at a Chevrolet-Cadillac dealership in Marion, Illinois. I was taking a dalmane nearly every night but still not sleeping much. One morning my service manager gave the assignment of changing an engine in a front-wheel-drive Cadillac.
What I did next would have gotten me fired from any other dealership, but since my manager knew of my sleeping problem, I guess he just wrote it off as the result of another bad night. I had what is known in the business as a “refrigerator” toolbox. They're a bottom box and a top box that when combined form the size of a smaller-sized refrigerator. I had both of my boxes bolted together to form one box.
I gripped the top of my toolbox with both hands and shook it so hard from front to rear that the wheels were lifting off of the floor. I had so much pint-up energy from both the dalmane and the insomnia (and the fact that I hated the automotive repair business) that I guess I had strength beyond normal at that moment.
After that I grabbed a chair, walked out front of the service department, and sat there for 30 minutes. After I'd cooled off some, I went back to the Cadillac and kicked the front license plate several times, bending it out of shape, but I didn't care. After a while, I finally settled down and changed the engine. I guess if I'd had an assault rifle with me that morning, I could have easily gone postal. It's a good thing that I've never had an interest in guns and have never owned one.
Later, as a seminary student in the mid-'90s, I was getting maybe an hour of sleep per night. I was miserable, actually beyond miserable, but I tried my hardest to keep it from my fellow students and co-workers. I was no longer taking dalmane, so I didn't have that chemical in my system to cause additional problems.
I never tried to hide it from my wife and daughter, though. One morning after no sleep, I was walking my then eight-year-old daughter to school. She said something to me, I don't remember what, but I snapped and said, “Shut up! Don't talk to me!”
She didn't say another word. But I hurt her feelings that morning. I would never have said that if I'd had a “normal” night's sleep. I don't know if she's forgotten that morning, but I haven't. I'll carry the burden of hurting her that day for the rest of my life.
As a seminary student, I worked 36 hours per week for the school's landscaping department. We were a large department with every tool and machine needed to take care of the seminary's campus and family housing units. As at any other seminary or university, the president received special treatment. The landscaping department stored the wood used in the president's home fireplace and kept his wood rack stocked so he'd have wood when he wanted it.
One day, with little sleep and after scoring poorly on a test, I went to work early, grabbed an axe, walked to the woodpile, and chopped wood for a while to burn off stored energy. Normally, I'd never chop wood because it's hard, physical work, the kind of work I don't like. But that day I needed the energy relief that chopping offered. Nobody asked me why I was doing it, so it didn't appear that I was trying to hide my insomnia.
Chronic insomnia is a killer of good life.
