Sleep: The Comfortable, Temporary Escape


I’ve always been a sleeper. My father is a musician and a night owl. He usually woke up after lunch time and began a workday that would last until 6am. I guess I took after him because I’ve never been a morning person, at least not the way most people are. The only thing I do when the sun comes up is go to sleep. 

I’ve tried to adjust my schedule a million times. I tried resetting my clock by staying awake a whole day then going to sleep at a reasonable time. I’ve tried taking a sleeping pill at a normal hour that way I would wake up with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, my stubborn internal clock would always reset itself to it’s unusual hours after a couple of days of normalcy.

Depression has not really helped the situation. I find myself wanting to stay asleep longer to avoid dealing with the day. If I sleep, I don’t have to do chores, or talk to people, or entertain myself, or deal with any daily responsibilities. I use dreams as an escape from reality. When I close my eyes, I can be who I want. I can imagine myself as a successful individual with a lucrative career in architecture or writing. I can be married with children, or be a successful single mom who can take on the world, or I can be a desirable bachelorette living in a fun penthouse. 

When the real dreams come, they can be hit or miss. Sometimes I dream about my ex, but those dreams are never good. He is usually with someone else and taunting me emotionally. Sometimes I dream about traveling. I love to travel. I think if I was in a new country every month I would be happy for the rest of my life. Sometimes I dream about food, especially when I’m dieting. I have a lot of nightmares; I’m sure that has to do with my anxieties. A major portion of them contain bugs. I am afraid of insects, but I don’t really understand why I always dream about them. 

I tend to sleep 10-12 hours a day. That is pretty much half of my day, everyday. As great as I feel when I sleep, the feeling of uselessness I experience when I’m finally up and about is not worth the dreams. I always tell myself this when I’m in bed, refusing to get up, but for some reason the guilt is not motivation enough to get up. I think maybe it has to do with the fact that I live alone. I have no one to wake up to. Not in a romantic way, but in a “Hey, Noemi, what the hell are you still doing in bed, it’s four in the afternoon!” way. Making a good impression on someone would motivate me to wake up, eat breakfast, and begin my day. 

Anybody want to move in? :p

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