I’ve become a patsy for any purported cure for insomnia. I recently bought a gizmo that flashes a blue light in a rhythmic pattern. The insomniac is instructed to time inhales and exhales to match the rhythm of the flashing light. In order to do that, your eyes must be open — and since I’ve had a life-long habit of sleeping with my eyes closed, this presented a problem.
Morpheus Awakening as Iris Draws Near, René-Antoine Houasse (c. 1645–1710); The Grand Trianon, Versailles
Then I responded to an ad touting hemp gummy bears — produced from the cannabis plant, but without the hallucinogenic effect. In other words, the effect that might have helped me sleep. This tamed-down, no-fun version was useless. I briefly considered nibbling a marijuana cookie, since it’s now legal in my state, but I was worried that it might be addictive and a gateway to something stronger — like warm milk and Oreos.
I have also experimented with bedtime snacks recommended to be sleep-friendly — a small piece of turkey, a handful of sunflower seeds, a banana, cherries ... but my brain perceives these as appetizers and expects a follow-up like that leftover lasagna in my fridge. Once that image is embedded in my head, It’s all over. That lasagna’s minutes are numbered. I zap it in the microwave. Then it’s goodbye lasagna, hello heartburn. Two Tums later, I’m still wide awake. Conversely, I’ve tried not eating a heavy evening meal (which is why I had that leftover lasagna, to begin with), but then I was too hungry to sleep.
I thought Alexa could help. I asked her to play relaxing music, but that merely provided a soundtrack for my aforementioned worries. I needed something more distracting, so I asked the accommodating Alexa to switch to a talk show. She did, just in time for me to hear a caller’s lavish praise of Donald Trump, followed by another caller’s furious dissent. All the controversy momentarily distracted me from my worries, but at the price of spiking my already alarmingly high blood pressure.
I tried a skin patch which releases sleep medication to the body. My doctor frowned on it, but it did work. Once. And only once.
More often than not, I have been relying on a low-dosage sleeping pill, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Is it better not to take the pill and lie awake all night — or to take it and sleep? A dilemma. This time I asked Dr. Google, instead of my real doctor. It warned about side effects, including the scary possibility that sleeping pills might contribute to dementia, so I keep trying to wean myself off. The effort becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I know I won’t sleep — so I don’t. Or worse. I might eventually drop off but I fall into a frightening, disquieting dream. Like last night. I was really sleepy so thought I could forego my pharmacological fix. Mistake. Oh, I nodded off all right; but as the sun that lit the dream set and darkness descended, I found myself running through unfamiliar streets, all of which turned out to be dead ends or blocked by shady, menacing characters or insurmountable objects. I became more and more frightened and desperate, running faster and faster. When I mercifully woke up, I was exhausted (and I swear I had a new blister on my heel).
I’ve never studied dream interpretation, but the meaning of this one seems obvious — I am not reaching my life goals. Especially my goal of getting a good night’s sleep.
©2019 Rose Madeline Mula for SeniorWomen.com
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