Writing Through Insomnia
August 28, 2020 § 41 Comments
By Dana Laquidara
Another night like this, suddenly wide awake. I don’t exactly feel panicked, my heart is not racing, but I am on high alert. What I am waiting for, I am not sure.
I’ve done all the things: no coffee after 10 am. No wine. No electronics in the bedroom. Exercise. Meditation even. Yet most nights it is the same. I can predict before opening my eyes that the clock will read 1:30 am. Sometimes 1:20.
My husband reaches out and touches my leg. He is letting me know he is awake now too. Was I tossing and turning? A middle of the night rendezvous; I resist the urge to speak. He will fall back asleep and there is nothing specific to say, to be anxious about. Well there is, actually. I mean the whole world is anxious now. Shouldn’t it be? I run through my list: Who shall I focus on this night? Family? The country? Humanity?
I do my yogic breathing. I decide not to waste this time on trying to assign a subject to my insomnia. Instead I grab a pillow and I go downstairs and settle on the couch with my notebook. I may as well write something. Nothing will interrupt me at this hour, nothing outside my own head. The world is asleep, even as it is falling apart.
Not even my to-do list is calling me now. Phone calls to make, writing deadlines, laundry. Those are the affairs of daylight and I won’t engage such thoughts. I’ve been invited, against my wishes, but I’m here nonetheless, to do whatever I want in this dark hour. I figure something will happen if I put pen to paper, something to loosen this grip around my heart that is alerting me to I’m not sure what. I am ready, ready for whatever is going to happen, even if it is only on the page.
The windows are shut down here and I’m too tired to get up and open them, too busy writing. I am hot as hell now. My hair is getting long—I am not yet ready to venture into a hair salon, even with all the precautions in place. I’ve been snipping the ends of my unruly hair, one curl at a time, with the professional scissors I bought online. I’m due for another quarantine haircut. I pull my hair up on top of my head with the elastic around my wrist.
I’m so hot and so tired, I’m starting to feel nauseous. Tomorrow—which is today, technically—I will see what I’ve written, and if there’s anything worth saving.
I hear my husband upstairs, stirring. He is in the cool air-conditioned room and all of it is suddenly calling me now—the cool room, the soft bed, the husband.
I put down my pen and notebook and leave them on the couch next to the pillow. I will be back tomorrow night, same time, same place.
___
Dana Laquidara is a writer living in Massachusetts. Her work has earned awards in The Writer’s Digest, The Creative Well and at a Boston Moth live story-telling event.
Yes. All of it. Every word.
My response to a word. Are we all awake at 1:30am, knowing the time and our husband breathing beside us and unable to sleep?
Thank you. ❤
Thank you.
Thank you so much for your comment.
“… I am on high alert. What I am waiting for, I am not sure.” This quote and every other sentence: wonderful.
Thank you so much.
My husband suffers from the same condition. He wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. Insomnia is no joke. Stephen King even wrote a horror book about it. Taken care of yourself.
Thank you.
I loved every word of this. Thank you for writing it. Now I’m going to go back and read it all over again.
Wow. Thank you, Abigail.
Good reminder of what to do when we are anxious and can’t sleep. So many of us feel this way, me included. Thank you for the suggestion to get up and write.
Thank YOU for commenting.
Even though this description of your ongoing insomnia should be unsettling, there is something calming or at least encouraging about your sitting on the couch with your pillow and notebook. “I figure something will happen if I put pen to paper . . . ” I hope some sleep-filled nights are in your future.
I’m so glad you said so! Thank you.
Call me any time lol
I am not alone, am I? ☺
Wide awake. 2:03 am. Waiting with you.
Seems there are a lot of us!
This is so….damn….recognisable.
I ate up every word of it!
So glad to hear!!
So we are many. Apart from writing, it is also the best time to connect with the spiritual being. Silent prayers do great at such an hour.
I agree with that, Ciscas.
Thank you.
From a fellow sufferer—trazodone 50 mg has worked wonders for me. My 1:30-4 or 5am wakefulness has gone from once or twice a week to once every 2 weeks or so. No morning grogginess, no addiction risk, and no bizarre behaviors like some sleep meds can cause, such as sleep baking, sleep driving, sleep sex! Peace and rest to you!
Thank you.
Loved this piece because it rings true for so many of us! I fight the urge to get up though. I’d prefer to just think about something. If I get up, then go back to bed, my whole next day feels “off.” Thanks for sharing this timely selection!
Thanks so much for your comment!
Dana
dnalaquidara.com
danalaquidara.com
You are living my life or it sure sounds like it. Beautiful writing. Hope to see you again.
Thank you so much.
-Dana
danalaquidara.com
[…] This essay was originally published on Brevity’s nonfiction blog: via Writing Through Insomnia […]
[…] This essay was originally published on Brevity’s nonfiction blog: via Writing Through Insomnia […]
“CLICK”: I empathize…though I have my own bedroom, as the “he” who lives here sleeps even more poorly! I read, jot down first lines and title ideas; muse over my toddler twin grandchildren and recall the wonderful walks/hikes I have each day. And think of my good fortune, overall, that I have a decent life, even if as an insomniac. And write shopping lists that I may or may not shop from in the next few days. Prayer helps me. Recalling my mother’s sleep issues and that she nonetheless lived until 92 and had a sharp mind and loads of energy until nearly the end…yawn…
PS My hair is shoulder length now, graying faster these past months and, thus, is pulled often into a messy ponytail…aargh.
Exactly!
I feel the tension, frustration in the pace of your essay.
In a way, it is comforting another creative person is out there somewhere in the night, wide awake like I am. I also realize I am grateful I’ve been cutting my own hair since 5th grade.
Oh my, but I hear you. Right down to the loving supportive husband (who can down a double espresso and fall off to sleep in seconds).
I know your problem well, although my time slot is around 3.15am. Lovely piece of writing. I almost felt like I was there watching.
Thank you for this. This one captured a lot of feelings for when I would suddenly wake up and it’s usually 1:30 or 2:00 and go back to sleep two or three hours after. One thing I didn’t do then is to get up and write something because my brain wouldn’t let me concentrate. Reading this made me think it’s not too late and see what my mind can produce.
So intriguing! Reminds me of my own heart pacing, automatically rapid and then sensual-an uncomfortable feeling. I think life is that way though one minute we know what we’re talking about and the next we’re living in a fantasy. Keep up the wonderful work 🙂
Writing through insomnia is like turning sleepless nights into a canvas for creativity. The quiet darkness becomes a sanctuary for words to dance and thoughts to weave their own stories. Embrace the stillness, let the quiet hours guide your pen, and watch as insomnia transforms into a muse for your writing journey.