Sleeping is an Awful Chore
The sandman and I don’t get a long
The sandman and I don’t get a long
My entire life, I’ve been able to remember my dreams perfectly. I remember a dream when I was eight years old when I went to heaven and fell in love with a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl. I remember her face like it was last night.
When I was 23, I dreamed I was a superhero. My dream wife reminded me our adventure was a dream and begged me to call her when I awoke because she wouldn’t remember our relationship. In reality, she was a mutual friend of mine. I called her for coffee, but obviously never told her the dream. It’s not always fun dreams I remember, either.
I can still hear the screeching of tires from car crashes, gunshots to the head, and phone calls about dead family members. None of these are real, of course, but it’s there regardless. Forty years of these dreams, and now I expect them. As I lay there, I wonder what dreams might come. Horror or fantasy? Sex or seclusion?
When I was a baby, even before I can remember, I used to shake violently while dreaming. It was so bad my mom took me to a doctor so they could watch me sleep. She remembers waking up in the middle of the night and walking to the room where a team of doctors sat watching a monitor of me, laughing as I shook myself awake. Before sunrise, my mom made sure every doctor got a piece of her mind and I was back home.
The doctors called to say they thought I would eventually grow out of it, and to some degree, I did. However, whatever the condition continued to plague me.
As a kid, I’d punch walls, swing my arms until my knuckles bled, hit the desk next to my bed, or screamed full sentences. My middle brother hated it. We slept in the same room and my screaming, shouting, and moving around woke him up all the time. My parents shared a wall with our bedroom and they’d wake up to me repeatedly full-fist punching the wall.
In case you’re wondering, yes, this caused issues while sleeping next to a partner. The first time I hit someone I was sleeping with was my first girlfriend in college. I just remember my open palm slap hitting her in the face as I woke up. Afterward, I’m fairly sure I’ve somehow hit every single partner at least once as long as they stuck around after one night.
My poor wife has been punched, slapped, and woken up to me screaming, crying, and more. I’m surprised anyone sleeps next to me.
When my kids were little, they slept on my wife's side of the bed with her in between us for safety. Not every night is intensely violent, but enough to remember to put her between the baby and me.
About a year ago, I started taking meds for anxiety and I’ve discovered they helped. If I’m consistent with my medication then my dreams are less vivid, but, on the days I forget to take them, I know I’m in trouble when my head hits the pillow.
Sometimes, I think about my wife attending my funeral. Will she wonder if I’m stuck in another nightmare that I can’t awake from? I bet she will think I’ll shake myself awake at any moment, but of course, I won’t. It’s an interesting thought.
One day, I’ll be an old man, lying on a couch, still dreaming I’m being chased by snakes, shot, stabbed, drowned, or any of the other nightmares I remember.
If you’re looking for a silver lining, I have one for you.
None of this has ever stopped me from doing anything in my life.
I’ve had plenty of partners, raised three children, and married a wonderful woman who finds it hard to sleep without me in bed. All normal things adults do or would be expected to do. I can carry on during the day and work as hard at my job as I’d like, but when night falls, and the house is still, the chore starts over.
Time to lie down and see what dreams may come.