Posted this elsewhere, figured I’d put it here too.

I haven’t been able to sleep well for two years now. Getting two hours of sleep a week isn’t healthy for a human body. You begin to deteriorate. Your mind is always tired, and your body is worse. Your appetite fades; you become belligerent, arguing for non-insignificant reasons.

The first time I went to the doctor, he told me, ‘You need healthy, natural sleep. Chew some valerian root and get more exercise,’ He said it was all in my mind. It wasn’t all in my mind; there was something wrong with me. I acquired a gym membership. Over-the-counter sleep aids. I still couldn’t sleep. I went back to the doctor after a month.

This time he prescribed a heavy sleeping medication. I took it that night, feeling excited to finally get some sleep. I took the pills, following the bottle’s directions. I watched television on the living-room sofa and felt like a zombie. I mumbled nonsense, but didn’t sleep. My family members started to worry. My body was melting and my mind was disintegrating. I started to detach myself from reality.

I started to build Star-wars models just to pass the time. It seemed everything was moving in slow motion. Within a week I had built my own formidable mini version of the emperor’s imperial space fleet, large enough to rival even the biggest of loser.

I went back to the doctor, and baffled him with my situation. He recommended me to the sleep clinic, where they would put me under study and try to figure out what was wrong with me. I would have to go there and spend all night, lying under their studious gaze. The first time I went, I had an interview with the person in charge. He told me his name and title, but I forgot them within moments of him saying them. He spoke in a heavy accent, Russian, I think. He told me how it would work. A technician would hook me up to all their monitoring systems. They would watch over my blood pressure, heart rate and all other stuff of that nature.

I’d been going to the sleep clinic for 3 months now. I had fallen asleep in the clinic a couple times, but not for long enough for them to collect and usable data. Nobody knew what was wrong with me. An intern was watching over me that night, not a real doctor. I made small talk with her as she connected me to the machines. Her name was Natsumi, she told me I didn’t pronounce it correctly, but I didn’t correct myself. She tried to put me at ease, but I was already. I had become so regular there, that I felt as comfortable there as I did at home.

She left, and I fell asleep for 13 minutes. Not nearly long enough to reach REM sleep, my brain was still working and I was moderately aware of my surroundings. I’ve learned a lot about the human circadian rhythm and sleep cycles, and stuff like that.

Throughout all of this I had managed to keep attendance at my job. I worked at a gas station. Not one of those fancy ones where customers could walk in and browse the shelves. I sat in a booth, surrounded by cigarettes, candy bars and three inches of bulletproof glass on three sides. It was the easiest job anyone could have. Hardly anyone paid in cash anymore, and if they wanted junk food, they would go to one of the larger gas stations, or a convenience store to get them. Over the course of a day, probably three people would come up to the window, behind which I would be sitting, watching television or reading a book.

After work it would be around 11pm, which is when I would go to the clinic. I spent more time there then I did at home now. When I got there, the intern was the only one there, which was understandable, as it was a small place, a couple rooms for patients, an office, and the reception area, and could be run by one person if need be.

She asked me about myself, which was something I loathed. I hated talking about myself, as I wasn’t very interesting, nor did I have anything to talk about. I told her about my sleeping problems instead.

I was hooked up to the machines, lying on their snoozing sofa, and starring needlessly hard at the ceiling. The least they could do is put a television in the room for those who cannot sleep. I had become addicted to watching the news. I did it whenever I could, marveling at the atrocities humans could commit against one another. It was horrible, and yet I couldn’t stop watching it.

The intern had come in to check up on me. I had already forgotten her name. I asked her to repeat it and she laughed. I asked her if she had any coffee and she told me that it would defeat the entire purpose of the clinic to serve coffee to their patients and they might as well hang a Starbucks sign on the front of the building. I didn’t want any coffee, I was just curious as to how she would respond, and what she said had made me laugh.

I hadn’t lost my sense of humor with my sleep, or my ability to communicate, like when I took the heavy medication. I could still read and comprehend things. Being deprived of sleep for 48 hours could be described as a natural high; you have vivid hallucinations, heightened senses and a feeling of incredible creativity. I was not feeling creative, nor was there a boogeyman eating a sandwich across the room.

I had begin to study the effects of sleep deprivation when I wasn’t at the clinic. I would go to the public library and check out all the books dealing with the matter, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I found nothing. Most of the causes of sleep deprivation were self induced. I returned all the books to the library and continued my dreamlike cycle.

I went to the clinic and she called me by my first name, which was a first. She wasn’t a doctor and wasn’t therefore required to follow the strict doctor-patient relationship stipulations, and was able to call me by my first name.
 I was usually at the clinic from 11pm to 6am. Sometimes I left early when I couldn’t stand it anymore. There wasn’t a clock in the room, for obvious reasons. I had asked the intern if she would like to go get coffee after my time was done. She told me she didn’t drink coffee, which I thought was weird for someone who works all night. I took this as a simple denial. But then she told me we could get some breakfast, if I liked. I told her I would, and we left it at that.

I fell asleep again. Not for long, only about 20 minutes, I would guess. And nobody was even in the room. I wished I could count the seconds by. Each one felt like an eternity.

She told me about herself over breakfast. She had lived here her whole life. Their parents moved when they were pregnant with her, so she would be a citizen. She was older than me, though, by two years. But that didn’t seem to bother her. I had a cup of coffee and some hotcakes. She had a cheese omelet and orange juice.

I went home and watched the news. I had stopped putting together the Star Wars models. I thought about getting rid of them, but I figured I’d keep them around for awhile longer. Besides, they were kind of neat to look at.

I went to work and felt bored, more so than usual. I had read all of my books, and hadn’t bought more. The news was boring today. But there were more customers than usual tonight, a holiday weekend, so a lot of people were traveling. I was excited to go back to the clinic, which sounds weird to me. A clinic isn’t someplace you usually want to go. But I wanted to see her again.

The time passed slowly, but I was finally able to leave when the person after me arrived 20 minutes early. When I got there, we had small talk as she prepared me for the study, and I told her how I enjoyed having breakfast with her and asked her if we could do it again.

She nodded.