Saturday, February 15, 2020

Sleep in a time of anxiety

Since I returned to the United States from Costa Rica to stay I have not slept more than four hours at a time without waking. It's not to do with a need to urinate, nor with discomfort. Sleeping pills notwithstanding.
Some of the time, usually when I wake after my first sleep aided by pills, I awake to panic. Almost paralyzed with dread. I can feel the presence of someone. In the beginning of these feelings I would huddle under the cover and strain to hear whatever had awakened me. Nowadays I immediately turn on a light and start telling myself that all is okay. No reason to be afraid. I am in my bed, alone in my apartment and nothing can get me. There is nothing to fear. Then I get a cup of hot coffee, a piece of toast, and settle into my bed with my kindle and distract my brain with reading until I am calm. After an hour or less I can go back to sleep and get another three or four hours. This happens about 20% of the time. The other 80% I wake, but am okay and after a short while reading and a drink or snack can go to sleep again.

I have read that in early ages people slept a first sleep and then got up and did stuff and then finished the night's sleep.


In Charles Dickens' Barnaby Rudge (1840), he writes:
"He knew this, even in the horror with which he started from his first sleep, and threw up the window to dispel it by the presence of some object, beyond the room, which had not been, as it were, the witness of his dream."
Interestingly, the appearance of sleep maintenance insomnia in the literature in the late 19th century coincides with the period where accounts of split sleep start to disappear. Thus, modern society may place unnecessary pressure on individuals that they must obtain a night of continuous consolidated sleep every night, adding to the anxiety about sleep and perpetuating the problem.
I think of the split shifts at Indiana Bell where I had my first real job. There was a bedroom off the lobby for sleeping between shifts. We were a crew of mostly young women and were treated as if we were in the nurture and care of  Indiana Bell. Was this a carry over from those early patterns? Or simply the patronizing common to the age.
In another context I could explore the habit of crouching at night with ear to register in the floor above the living room  to keep tabs on what was going on downstairs as being the precursor to these dreads of the night.

4 comments:

KiKiDo said...

Yes, accept the theory and go with it. The night terrors, though. Creepy.

KiKiDo said...

"In the cellars of the night, when the mind starts moving around old trunks of bad times, the pain of this and the shame of that, the memory of a small boldness is a hand to hold." John Leonard

KiKiDo said...

You have many acts of boldness, both large and small, to remember.

KiKiDo said...

Not to say that the dread you feel has anything to do with memories.

Once upon a time...