Reading an article on Fatal Insomnia (from Jessica Z.) made my hypochondriac tendencies even worse. I do have insomnia but, luckily, I don’t have similar symptoms of tortured wakefulness. My problem is of a very, very different kind.
For around 11 months now, I haven’t been sleeping restfully. Even naps in the middle of the day are just as tiring as my nightly eight hours–if I even manage to get a straight eight. Why tiring? Because my dreams are too vivid, too active and way too amazing to make sleep anything but relaxing. Nightmares are not the right word for them; I rarely have nightmares. I suppose the best way for me to describe my nightly wanderings is that they are similar to being trapped in a very long, fast-paced, action/adventure movie–shot with a handheld camera with yours truly as the only stunt man.
I used to have a hard time adjusting and I complained to my neurologist after a month of continuous 300-like dreams. But he panicked, locked the door and went all therapist-ish on me and started asking about odd mental trauma and boyfriend anxieties.
I try to influence my dreams. Once, I read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke until I dropped, hoping to meet the Raven King in my sleep. But I dreamed about a Mafia-connected chef instead.
So I just decided to live with it. Eventually, I learned to like them until they became as comfortable as routine showers.
I still get the occasional calm dreams. Like the other night, when I ran into Heath Ledger, who was my (!) ex-boyfriend, and we spent the afternoon on a couch reminiscing.
Great… I finally dream about a hot Hollywood hunk and he just had to play an Ex. And all we did was TALK.