Sleep. My enemyy. I wrote a whole novel–no, forget that novel. We don’t talk about that one. Let’s move on. I have been fighting with Morpheus since I was a kid, and I am giving up hope that I will be able to adjust it any time soon. I spent all of the last post talking about how much I’ve struggled with my sleep–and it doesn’t seem like there’s anything I can do to fix it.
I feel beaten down and defeated–and I know at least some of it is my own damn fault. Nerodivergence or not, I–you know what I’m not going to finish that sentence, either. I’m very hard on myself, and I think even when I can recognize that I am neurodivergent, I don’t fully accept that it has an impact on me. Or I downplay it and feel like I’m a lazy person, anyway.
It’s hard to say because while it is a big deterrent, that doesn’t mean it’s not up to me to do something about it. I think the problem is that I need to do the one thing I really, really don’t want to do–which is set a firm bedtime. The problem with that is setting a firm bedtime doesn’t mean I’ll be able to sleep on time or enough. In fact, when I put an emphasis on my sleeptime or forcing myself to go to bed, I become very aware of time passing. That makes it harder for me to fall asleep, and I just lie on the couch with my eyes wide open. Even when I close them, I can hear the metaphorical clock ticking in my ears.
The problem is that the little tweaks I do don’t work. Moving my bedtime up or back by an hour–nope. Melatonin–nope. Sleeping pills–a hard nope. Warm milk, herbal tea, warm bath? Nope, nope, and nope. Exercise before bed? Nope. Exercise during the day? Nope. Valerian? Fuck no! Reading before bed? Nope. Napping earlier? Also nope.
Side note: I have this thing about not trying the last and desperate option because–and I admit, this is screwy logic–then I’ll have nothing left. When I was deep in my depression and had tried so many meds, my therapist suggested EKG. I demurred because I felt that was the last option. If it didn’t work, I would be totally bereft.
I know it’s faulty logic, but it’s the way my brain works. It’s the same with the end of things. I hate the last in any series because it means the end of that series. I really liked a British series called Prime Suspect, based on the books. It’s about a female cop (detective? I think?) who had to fight sexism as much as she did the baddies. By series I mean there was a movie every year or so–looking it up, it spanned 15 years, had 7 series and 15 episodes. So I was basically right. The last series, series 7 had 2 episodes. I could not bring myself to watch them, and I still haven’t. I just could not bear to see the series end.
Now, I could go back and watch the whole series (if I can find them to stream. I don’t have any of the streaming services that offer the series, apparently. Sigh), but I’m not sure I want to do that. I adored Helen Mirren back then and for decades to come. Fairly recently, though, she’s said some things that make me like her less. Also, I don’t know how well the series will hold up. But it was incredible at the time.
In addition, I tend to like things that get cancelled. Basically, if I like it, it’s probably not going to get another season. Sorry. I don’t make the rules; I just have to live with them.
It’s the same with movies. I don’t like mainstream movies. The last one I enjoyed was Guardians of the Galaxy, and I was thoroughly surprised by really liking that movie. Wait. I really dug Everything Everywhere All at Once until the very last monologue–which completely ruined the movie for me. Like, flipped it on its head. That toxic bullshit about a parent hating on you and putting you down actually being love? No. Fucking miss me with that bullshit. It was so repugnant to me, I could not take the rest of the movie seriously after the monologue really set in.
And my biggest example of a very popular movie that I utterly hated was Knives Out. I have written about it so many times in the past that I am not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say that I found it pretentious and paper-thin. The only thing I liked about it was the scene-chewing done by Jamie Lee Curtis and Don Johnson. Which was one scene in the first ten minutes of the movie. That can tell you what I thought of the movie that I thought one scene that early in was the best part of the movie.
I was talking with my brother about my disdain for movies (except for musicals and a certain few indies), and he laughed and said, “Of course you don’t like movies. They’re not real.” Meaning they have to truncate things to make them fit a certain timeframe. They need people to agree ahead of time to shortcuts and whatnot. Emotional ones, I mean.
Back to sleep. I know what the last option is. And I know how difficult it will be for me to do it. First of all, I have to get in the mindset of following it to a T. It’s putting myself to bed at a given time and just stay there. I know the common wisdom is to get up if you can’t fall asleep in fifteen minutes, but I don’t think that’s going to work for me. If I get up, I will not go back to bed again.
I want to ideally go to bed at three in the morning and get up at eleven. Right now, it’s more like going to bed at six or seven and getting up at two. It’s such a trial and tribulation for me, and I know I just have to the one neat trick–but what if it doesn’t work? That’s the fear looming in the back of my head.