Sleepless

4:37 AM.

It’s currently four in the morning, and I can’t sleep.

Do you ever reach that stage of night when it gets too late to go to sleep? You’ve come this far now—why not go a bit further? Why not commit to the process? Why not just give into the insomnia?

Your mind starts to fill with worry as you realize everyone else is asleep, and you’re alone. But hey, then you’re struck with that reality again, and experience it differently: everyone else is asleep, and you’re alone. There’s something special about that, isn’t there? There’s some rarity to it that makes it mean something…

Thus ensues wild notions of how you might fill this special time. You’re already awake, right? Might as well use the time to do something productive, to get a head start. And hey, maybe some of that comes from the guilt that accompanies staying up late, the feeling that you’re somehow wasting something away. You might think of cleaning your room, reorganizing your closet, making your bed, or even writing a blog…

I think it’s safe to say I’ve reached that point. It’s four in the morning, and I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight. I think I’ll experience the sleeplessness in full—and it will have its consequences: tomorrow I’ll feel dreadful, I’ll be in a dazed dream, I’ll be useless. But not tonight, not right now. Right now, I’m stuck in the in-between.

I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately. At first, the in-between of life and death; then, in a relationship and out of one; and now, between the rested and the restless; in this case, I am neither. I’m not prepared to let this night go and find myself at the mercy of another day—a new day, filled to the brim with new expectations I’ll never meet. But then, I’m also unwilling to give up on the hope of sleep, for there is something soothing in giving into that process. Maybe I will after all…

But for now, I’m here. For now, I’m awake.

I’m sleepless.

I’m always struck with the worst of thoughts when I am. Not the worst—that’s a bit of hyperbole. It’s better to say that I’m struck with the deepest of my thoughts at this time, or really the thoughts I’ve been hiding from for the majority of the day. Thoughts like “I miss this person,” thoughts like “I wonder if they’re thinking about me too,” thoughts like “Am I really happy?” “Did I do enough today?” “Am I wasting my time?” “Will I ever be happy?”

My therapist today, with an air of humor, asked if I thought I was “unlovable.”

“I know you’re likeable,” she said, smiling. “But do you think you’re unlovable?”

It got me thinking…

What the fuck kind of question is that? Who asks that?

What do you do with that question? I couldn’t answer it then, not really. I think she was kidding. I think she was making the point that I see myself in that way, when really I’m not. When really I’m not… But then, was she? What do you do with that question? I’ll tell you what you do:

Wait for a sleepless night, and it’ll find you.

And found me it has.

Am I unlovable?

Now that I think about it, these thoughts are the worst. They leave me feeling empty. They leave me feeling sad.

And so I’m met with these two contrasting emotions of hope and hopelessness, and yet again I find myself in that realm of the in-between.

Yet again, I am sleepless.

It’s currently four in the morning. I won’t be sleeping tonight.

Fuck.

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