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When You Don’t Want To Go To Sleep
Kids suffer from a great deal of FOMO when it’s their bedtime and adults are still mingling. The little ones even cry, unbeknownst to them that their tears are literal proof how much they need to go to sleep. The last time I cried because I didn’t want to go to bed is such a distance in the past that you’d have to ask my mother. Since teenage years, I’ve begged my mind to settle down and let me sleep. How many nights as an adult have I spent nearly in tears because I want nothing more but to sleep, but am unable?
I recall a great deal from childhood, and when I was young, I seesawed from Peter Pan syndrome of never wanting to grow up (which I am somewhat succeeding at with flying colors) to wanting to be an adult overnight. Born an old soul, it wasn’t unusual for me to spend time with adults, enjoying their conversation. Like most children, bedtime to me sometimes felt like a punishment more than a routine. Kids don’t fully understand the importance of their routine until they are older, even the wise ones. A proper bed time is one of the most crucial habits a parent can instill in a child. If not proper rested, a child is more prone to illness, losing attention in school, and their brain not developing to its best capability.
My parents let us stay up a little later than we were supposed to many nights, though we were subjected to watching whatever mom and dad watched. More times than not, it was a sitcom or something funny. My kid brother usually fell asleep on my mom’s bosom in the TV glow. He’d be carried into bed and my sister and I would be instructed to go to our beds. When mom tucked us in, I would squeeze her with all my might, trying to “trap” her in my bed to stay with me. Despite any claims we weren’t tired, we’d quickly fall into our deep sleeps.
Little did I know, back then, that sleeping would be something I’d only perfect in adolescence, and I’d grow to have more than one sleeping disorder, exacerbating whatever other mental illness I’d later be diagnosed with. Dreary are the nights I’m up until two or three in morning. Through the years I’ve rotated plenty of pills or supplements to recreate the sleep I was once capable of. What’s worse, I wonder, the damage I do to my brain from not sleeping, or the damage I do to my brain from taking more pills than Alice in Wonderland. Fuck it, I often say, anything to get to slumberland.
Long gone are the days where I dreaded a days end. Most days, my favorite part of the day is returning home, nestled in blankets with a book or watching a movie or television show. At last, the resting hour comes.
We still, I believe, can learn from our past selves, way back when we didn’t want to go to sleep. Are you able to change the lens in your minds eye to your younger self, who wanted these small moments to last forever? And can you learn to love them as much now, as you did then?
That’s some dream.
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