It’s 11:00 at night, and I can’t sleep. And usually when this happens, I start counting down the hours until I have get up, which is pretty much the pessimistic version of ‘if I fall asleep now, I can get thismany hours of sleep.”
a)I have to be up in 5,4,3,2,1 hours. b) If I fall asleep now, I can get 5,4,3,2,1 hours of sleep.
Nights like this, where it’s 11:00 and then it’s Midnight and then it’s 1 am, and I’m still awake, are the nights when all my nerve endings are exposed. I’m lying in bed, and I feel nothing, and then I feel everything. My mind is racing a thousand miles a minutes, and I can’t keep up (mostly because I have asthma).
Nights like this used to make me feel like I was being hit square in the chest by a train going 4000 miles an hour, which then launched me into a brick wall. If I fall asleep now, I can get 5,4,3,2,1 hours of sleep. The more I counted down the hours, the more I tried to force myself to not think, which accomplished the exact opposite, that is, my mind created these ridiculous scenarios where I was left saying,
Sorry I fell asleep during your class, Professor. You see, nights have always been hard for me, because with out the busyness the day provides, I’m left to face all of my demons, which let me tell you, is exhausting. And unfortunately, my mind throws about a hundred thoughts my way a second, which means there’s no rest for this weary soul, because I’m left having an existential crisis at 3 am. So, unless you have a physics formula to solve that equation, I’m going to let gravity control my head and lay it down on this desk. Because force equals mass times acceleration, and I’m not Catholic, but I know the rate at which objects accelerate as they fall to earth, and I know the force at which I was propelled off this cliff. So unless you have a parachute or a giant trampoline, you’re not really of use to me at this current moment. But if history ever repeats itself, I’ll come find you since History was never my strong(est) subject.
At 3 am, I have the best comebacks.
I was told once that darkness is just the absence of light, which is true, but I’ve also learned that you can’t see the stars without darkness. So, I guess it’s a paradox. Life is a paradox, and it’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma, encased in a conundrum. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because nights like this, nights where the weight of the world is compressing my chest, and I can’t breathe remind me I’m still alive. They remind me I’m healing. Because once upon a time, the urge to end my life was so strong. I could verge off the road here… I could slice my wrists with this tape gun… I could take just a few more pills…
I still have those thoughts. But, they’re less urgent. More quiet. More in the back ground. That’s how I know I’m recovering.
I used to feel nothing, but now I feel everything, and the only way to fix a third degree burn is to peel of the burned skin until the nerve endings are exposed. You have to feel worse before you can feel better. Struggling to breathe every once in a while makes your lungs stronger. Forgetting how to walk makes each step so much more beautiful.
Darkness makes the light so much more enjoyable.
I enjoy nights like this now. I always do my best writing between 10 pm and 2 am. If I fall asleep now, I can get 5,4,3,2,1 hours of sleep. My darkness has made me who I am.
Recovery is being born out of darkness. It is starting a flame inside your chest. Burning away all the darkness, and making yourself lighter.
I have found the light shining in the darkness.