Sleeping Comprehension

My first dream I remember having, was opening a clothing wardrobe in my bedroom and inside I found the entire galaxy. I swear I’ve never seen Narnia or read the books! I am in no way plagiarizing! I remember this dream because childhood sleep was rare. I was an insomniac prodigy ranging from age 7 to 15. I would go a week sleeping around 1-2 hours a night, usually between 6 am and 7 am. This would be the hour my brain was finally overworked and somehow comforted by morning light, it would collapse in on itself. The hours leading up to my magic hour when sleep would come were filled with anxiety, adrenalin and cortisol rushes, and a persistent watching of the clock as each hour passed. It was never a fast process. “Oh, great. Now if I go to bed, I’ll only have three hours of sleep!”

My insomnia was a dilemma for my parents, missing school out of exhaustion seemed to be somewhat of an evasion of responsibility,  but there was no denying a physical and mental toll. My world of middle school often began to feel like a dream world after another restless night. My focus would blur into restful meditation and while the teacher explained a G rated version of how America was founded, I would be staring at her earlobes imagining what it would be like if a squid flopped out of her ear or…wait, I think the tree outside might actually be talking to me. On top of insomnia, I am dyslexic with a strong ability as a kid to write journal entries completely backwards. While talking passionately, my words often still truncate together. “The movie was very beautowerful” “Beautiful and powerful.” I correct.

When being called on to read, it was basically asking a very drunk person who only just recently became literate to read Shakespeare. My heart would palpitate, feeling the drum of it inside my ears,  and I would read until the words floated away from me or I would get so stuck on a word the teacher would move on. I would still be illiterate, if it weren’t for the patience of Mrs. Greisch who would keep me inside at recess to work on reading, afterwards she would give me chocolate and tell me to keep it secret. Then I would go home and dress up like her in front of my closet mirror like Buffalo Bill. Completely obsessed.

Sleep since childhood has somewhat been a breeze. Once my hormones kicked into high gear, and I was boning as a teen, sleep graced me. It finally accepted me as one of gods children. I had salvation. Though, it needed to balance out. Once a sophomore in high school, a rebalancing act occurred and I couldn’t get enough sleep. Suddenly, I was missing class because I had to sleep in.  I was napping, blowjobing, and writing emo poetry. I was an upright  productive citizen. With the balm of sleep each night, I could harness a lot more play and parts of myself that were somewhat stunted in childhoods cloudy fatigue.

In my early twenties, I lived in West Harlem with a boyfriend. Neither of us had lived with significant others before. We were funny kids playing house. It was exciting and scary. We made a lot of tuna melts and watched Judge Judy. We begged the landlord to let us live in the apartment, even though he had asked for 6 months up front- an impossible task for two 23 year olds in 2013, now I think 23 year olds are usually millionaires. The landlord met us and decided we were the cutest things since curly fries and gave us the place.

We were ecstatic to have a nest together even though neither of us knew what we were doing. Our first week, we laid on the mattress in our bedroom that looked out onto a brick wall with a loud radiator banging and hissing all night. Until one night, I could swear I was listening to chatter, two people doing a bad job at whispering and having a pretty passionate argument that would sometimes make them both erupt in guttural laughter. I was confused, a block of dread rested on my chest and I began to sweat. My boyfriend was laying with his back towards me. I kept listening as the voices seem to grow louder. Was someone on the fire escape? What the hell are they talking about. He shifted his gaze toward me. Neither of us said anything, but our eyes were locked open, both scared.

Though we tried to many times, neither of us could properly recount what had happened. Later, I would learn about sleep paralysis. Sleep paralysis is the feeling of being conscious but unable to move. Only after watching Rodney Ascher’s movie, NIGHTMARE, did I hear other stories about shared sleep paralysis experiences.  During this period, it felt like we were both just having to deal with a ghost that gradually left the longer we stayed. That apartment didn’t get enough light which to me stagnates energy and for someone with ethanol gas instead of serotonin, I need light. We moved to Los Angeles very soon after.

I have been asking for dreams lately and getting them. While laying in bed, if you’re bored before you fall asleep, you can definitely program your mind to dream. You just have to ask. Nothing seems very important, but they feel real. I spill something on a dress from H&M before a wedding, and decide to quickly go back and buy the same dress before the ceremony. Dreams like that are happening a lot right now, where you’re left wondering if you’re subconscious is the depth of a childrens pool.

After surviving my insomnia, sleep felt so essential and delicious like bringing a  cinnamon bun on an airplane. Being well rested, felt more integral to life than many things like sports or attempting to understand mathematics.  Still the distortion of reality, I experienced while not asleep has shaped my brain. Its a double edged sword, of course, but there is no denying that everything  is funny, and nothing matters when you are manically tired. The gratitude I feel for rest is deep, I never thought as a kid, my brain would learn to shut the bleep up.  Tonight,

I hope I dream I go to Target and they have the deodorant I want.