Life after Dark

I did a blog a few months ago on the scourge of insomnia.

After a fairly stable run of sleep, I have been having trouble of late. And it struck me how much of my life is “lived” during what should be a time of dreams. I tend to wake up after every sleep cycle; sometimes, I manage two cycles and on rare occasion I get as many as three but typically I wake up each time. Most of these wake ups are “full”— meaning, I’m wide awake.

As I like to say, every night is an adventure.

With the recent instability, I’ve had extra awake time during the night. Unfortunately, much of the trouble has been driven by nervous system convulsions and what I call jerky-jerks (spasms). For decades, this was part of my existence and I’ve had a number of episodes far beyond my ability to guess. My worst nights had many, many hundreds that devolved into twitches as my body lost the energy to do anything more. I got acupuncture or a massage (sometimes both) at least 6 days a week (and sometimes 7) to help compensate from the lack of sleep but also to soothe my sensitive nervous system. It took a very long time but eventually the nightly episodes became less and then stopped altogether. For me, this was a miracle.

The convulsions/spasms occur at night as I’m trying to go to sleep (sometimes, I get spasms during a massage). During most of this time, few things would put a stop to them— though sometimes my husband would give me a back rub in the middle of the night, or a head rub, and that would soothe my nervous system enough for it to calm down.

I have tried many things, and the two most effective methods are 1) receiving nurturing touch 2) alcohol.

With my husband dead now for 3 years, I’ve relied on alcohol though I do cap how much I’m willing to drink. With one exception, it has been effective in the recent upheaval.

I’ve had time to think about this existence— at night, alone— the convulsions are scarry and feel life threatening— I’ve never gotten used to them— it feels like I’m living in a shadow of a shadow— in a kind of reality that’s not supposed to exist (but it does).

It’s a weird kind of second life at night full of nervous system disorders, fear, desperation, exhaustion, times of being cared for, prayer, drinking, writing, playing music, playing online hearts or spades, or simply enduring/sitting with my racing thoughts. And it’s also where I’ve had to lean on hope, on faith, that perhaps the next night might be better, and learning how to hang on to the hope and the faith despite repeated, hammering disappointment.

Sleep has been relegated to a sideshow.

With a run of relatively good sleep, I reduced my acupuncture/massage sessions so that I could direct the money elsewhere. It is a significant investment of resources. I think that is a factor in my recent struggles. But what I’ve noticed is that there are specific triggers to when I get the convulsions. My recent bout started when a MKP brother triggered my core wound. This had 3 rounds, and each time the convulsions abated after I did work in my men’s group. After the last round of being triggered, which I judged to be deliberate, I cutoff contact. But then I started getting spasms when I talked with my mother— this could be a number of things. The calls were good— but my nervous system is picking up something—my unconscious self is shouting for attention through my body. I have been analyzing what may be going on— I approached the call yesterday with conscious detachment— and no spasms. I was massaged by someone upset over the ICE unrest in Minnesota, and yes, convulsions followed that night.

So I have a sensitive nervous system that is forever shaped by having PTSD.

And I’m trying to open into a different way of existing during the night. In a way, I’ve treated being awake as “the enemy.”

And it also happens to be a part of my life that isn’t going away.

So somehow I need to become friends with the sleepless nights.

I need to connect to my body and understand what truth it’s trying to communicate.

And above all, keep my hope, and my faith.