I’ve never been a good sleeper. My mom told me that the first night she brought me home from the hospital I was awake all night and slept during the day.
I’ve come to believe it has more to do with the night than with sleep. At night I feel inspired. I can get things done. I like the feeling of being alert while everyone else is unconscious. And doing all of that helps me avoid the night. And the night people.
People are different at night. Their darker sides come out in the inky blackness. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t uneasy at night, waking at the slightest noise, always alert to what was just out of reach that I couldn’t see. I don’t know if I acquired this fear before I can recall the precipitating event, or if I came into the world with it already deep-seated. Regardless, it is there.
When the morning light begins to creep into my room, sleep can easily overtake me. I don’t think I’m alone in this. No one has insomnia at 7 a.m.
Maybe eventually the darkness and I will reach an understanding. In fairness, it’s not the darkness of the night, but the darkness of those in it that concerns me. I’m not sure there’s an answer for that.