Dread

I don't sleep. From the moment Colby was born I was afraid he'd stop breathing so I'd stay up all night watching him breathe. Then when he developed asthma, he did turn blue several times. There were several ambulance rides, days and days in the hospital. Those years got me in the habit of not sleeping.

Now I stay busy during the day. Go, go, work, work. I stop several times throughout the day to think, reflect, but the pain, the anguish, is too great so I get busy again. By nightfall I am exhausted. I lie in bed and the anxiety returns and I find an excuse to get up, then another, and another. Before I know it, it is morning and I have dozed for less than an hour.

This happens most nights. I go through my days in a daze. Several times I leave the house and forget to turn the water in the sink off. Only one minor flood so far. Over the counter sleep aids make it worse. I shake, I am revved up, and sleep for the next several nights is impossible.

I try relaxation techniques, routines, zen tea, deep breathing, but the thoughts in my head rush in, overpower everything and I am up again, holding my arms around myself and pacing through the house.

In the mirror I do not look like me. A stranger's face stares back through the glass. Dark circles, baggy eyes. Old. Exhausted. Tonight will be different, I think. Tonight I will sleep. I think that every night and some nights, for a few minutes, I even believe myself. I have come to dread the night.

Worry

Since Colby passed I worry about others a lot more than I used to. My mom has dropped a few pounds in recent weeks and I worry, incessantly, that she is not eating enough. I worry that friends do not get enough sleep, that they work too hard. I worry when people I know travel and am afraid they will not arrive safely. I worry about my dog being happy, that my cat is not getting enough exercise.

For years I worried about Colby. When he was a baby I stayed up night after night making sure he was still breathing. In fact, I don't think I've gotten a full night's sleep since he was born. Sleep has been replaced with worry. Did I get everything done that I needed to do? Did I leave anyone hanging with information I promised, yet never delivered? Is the space heater still far enough away from the wall? It that the neighbor shouting? Is everything okay over there?

I worry about others, yet I never worry about myself. I do not know if this is because I subconsciously know there is nothing to worry about, or that I don't care. I have a counselor friend who finds this a little strange. All I know is that when it comes to me, the worst that can possibly happen already has.

Sleep

I am emotionally, physically, and mentally on overload. Drained. I am so tired I wake up shaking. Normally, I have a tendency to over-do and Colby was the one who could always tell from the sound of my voice, the look on my face, the way I moved that I needed to rest. Granted, I have had a few others tell me that recently, and today I will take their advice. But Colby could catch it far sooner than anyone else. I will miss that. Somehow, I will need to learn to better gauge my inner resources.

Since the day Colby was born, rest and sleep has been a problem for me. When he was a baby I was afraid to sleep in case he needed something and I slept through it. What if he got caught in his crib, or turned over and couldn't breathe? As he got older he developed asthma. Then, of course, I couldn't sleep. What if he had an attack and couldn't find his inhaler. What if he needed to be rushed to the hospital, or I had to call 911? Then there was the usual childhood ailments: whooping cough, chicken pox, upper respiratory and ear infections. No way I could sleep then.

As Colby grew yet older and began going out with friends I couldn't sleep because I worried about him and I did receive my share of phone calls about car accidents or needing a ride because a friend had been drinking. More recently I couldn't sleep because Colby chose to be homeless. Where was he sleeping? Was he safe? Was he cold, hungry, hot, thirsty?

Now the process of going to sleep offers me far too much time to think, to process the loss, the sadness, the grief. So I don't try to sleep until I am exhausted. Then I am too tired to sleep, if there is such a thing, and end up dozing a few hours until morning.

I am not sure what the solution is. I have almost 24 years of sleeplessness. My body craves it, yet my mind resists it. Today I will lie down and and attempt to block the swirl of thoughts that come with inactivity. The usual distraction of a book is useless to me now. My attention span is still very short. Seconds. I find myself trying to read the same page over and over and none of it makes sense. And I find tv either grating with laughter, or depressing with talk of politics and health care reform. But I will try to rest today. I will try.