ccording to the ancient Egyptians, to lie in bed and not be asleep is living hell.
I’ve been living in hell for most of my lifetime. I have always had a difficult relationship with sleep for as long as I can remember.
I can't take sleep for granted. I'm jealous of anyone who can. It's a fact of life that I always have trouble sleeping whenever I'm supposed to.
Counting sheep or drinking warm milk or herbal tea never worked for me. Doing stretching exercises before bed worked for awhile, but I got lazy and forgot about them. Most sleeping pills make me nervous. Oddly enough, going to bed at the end of the day does not represent a source of solace for me. Neither is it a comforting reward for a hard day's work. It's more like waging battle every night. If I win, I manage to fall into sleep easily and quickly, taking full advantage of the time allocated for rest and recuperation. If I lose, I suffer the all the complex and varied agonies of defeat and the consequences that entail my neurotic state of sleeplessness (which can last the entire night): the feeling of squandering valuable time allocated for rest; self-hatred at my inability to perform something as basic as sleeping; the fear of not being able to function the next day due to lack of sleep; the actual inability to function the next day due to lack of sleep. However, most nights tend to result in a draw; I fall asleep after tossing and turning after an hour or so, no matter how tired I am. Sleep never comes easy for me, except when I'm not trying. My unease with sleep reflects my unease with life itself.
he pathology of sleeplessness began as early as first grade.
Up until about then, I shared a room with my sister. Almost every night without exception, she would be asleep within minutes of climbing into bed.
I, on the other hand, would ponder at the complexities of existence and the mysteries of the universe. I couldn't help it.
I envied my sister's callous attitude toward all the existential issues that were beginning to overwhelm my bedtimes.
We were taught in school that the night was reserved for sleeping, and that's what everybody else was doing easily enough.
Sometimes I would try without success to rationalise the often seemingly strange behaviour of classmates or teachers.
I was starting to feel like a freak at such a tender age.
Anyway, by the time I was eight, metaphysical problems started to infringe upon my allocated sleep time.
What exactly is the meaning of life? Is there a God? How do we get here? Is the universe infinitely vast?
How does one comprehend the scale of infinity? On other nights I worried about the math quiz the next day.
I could always count on something to worry about each night. To not worry was not to be me.
Neuroses soon enough became severe as the anxiety induced by the fear of having to be somewhere and functioning as a certain hour in the morning exacerbates my insomnia.
I can remember not getting enough sleep and loathing groggy, painful mornings as far back as the second grade. Some things never change.
remember sometime in second grade that I began to wake up not long after falling asleep.
I would join my dad in the living room to watch Nightline with Ted Koppel.
It was the height of the Iranian hostage crisis, and I became thoroughly engrossed by the almost nightly drama.
I was fascinated by the totally alien and exotic culture of revolutionary Islamic Iran, and perversely titillated by the notion that something unspeakably evil was going to happen to the American hostages. The menacing-looking Ayatollah was a mythic figure capable of inducing a somewhat delightful scariness, like a monster in a fun horror movie. It was also cool that my dad allowed me to stay up for it, and we bonded like we never before or since. Unfortunately, I also remember my groggy mornings worsening. I was feeling so tired that breakfasts became painful experiences. I could've collapsed into my cereal bowl. Mornings essentially became hell, and they would remain so ever since. However, after a few minutes into Nightline, I would forget about the imminent trauma that I would experience the next morning. I was having too much fun. Too bad other kids were missing out by going to bed. Sleeping was naff. I became a night person.
felt like I slept through junior high as well as high school.
Looking back at my life in hell, it’s really kind of amazing that I’ve managed to even get through the four high school, the years of 7.30am undergraduate labs, and stay employed in an adult, quotidian working world that begins at 8.00am.
The world was clearly not designed for people like me. I was in a state of daze through most of my undergraduate lectures and seminars.
I'm a bit surprised at how far I've gotten by being asleep in classes after all these years.
Who knows how much farther I would have gotten if I had enough sleep, kept normal hours, and stayed awake when I'm supposed to. I might even turn out to be a well-adjusted, productive and upstanding citizen.
I don't even want to think about the total number of hours wasted every night, year after year, by lying awake on my bed. Sleeping problems probably did affect my productivity as a student. When I was a teenager, I longed to have, perhaps more than anything else in the world, the ability to sleep whenever I wanted to. Why can I be like everyone else and just fall asleep when I'm tired? Why does it have to be an issue all the time? Why am I such a freak? Growing up was especially difficult because I was especially difficult. I took high school way too seriously, and I stressed out over everything. The worst thing about high school didn't have anything to do with silly issues like teenage relationships, drugs, or trying to be cool and fit in. It was all about getting ahead of your competitors, GPAs and SATs, and most importantly, getting into the right college. Being a clueless college track whore like all my peers, I did way much more than I could handle. The reason anybody did anything was for the purpose of putting it in college applications. Insincerity was rampant. In addition to journalism, Amnesty International, and tennis, I was in more clubs than I could remember.
A typical day's schedule would start way too early at around 06.00.
Being a stereotypical Virgo (if you believe in that kind of stuff), I would first make my bed, turn on the radio, brush my teeth, dress, and go through my usual morning routines. Around 06.15 I would turn on MTV (back in the days when it would actually play videos) and keep it in the background.
I would then grab a toast, bagel, or strudel with milk for breakfast.
Due to the fact everyone in my family had different schedules, we would each eat our breakfasts separately and silently, in deference to the cruelty of mornings.
(Even though all members of our family have different morning routines, I think I would still prefer to eat breakfasts alone, or alone with MTV pop stars, than with my parents if I was given a choice.) I'm usually out the door by 06.30 and on the school bus less than five minutes later. Not surprisingly, I would sleep on the bus. Classes would begin about a quarter after 07.00. The next seven hours or so seemed hazy to me since I was often so sleepy. Boring classes like geometry would put me out completely and immediately. Most difficult moments included the first two classes, as well as trying to stay awake during the inevitable food coma after lunch. Despite the numerous naps here and there, fatigue and drowsiness would linger as I do my homework in the late afternoons and evenings. Fortunately, things tended to become bearable after dusk, and I would actually start to get work done. I even found energy to do household chores and help out with the dishes after dinner.
o try to stay awake some of the time, year after year, required fuel.
Needless to say, I naturally developed an addiction to caffeine as the rigours of A.P. courses and preparations for the forthcoming litany of standardised college entrance examinations intensified. I hated coffee at first. It made me more jittery, nervous, and stressed out than I already was. A single cup of black coffee was enough to give me the shakes. However, it kept me awake, and that was what I wanted. I held on. My tolerance for caffeine increased, and pretty soon mere coffee just wouldn't cut it anymore. I graduated to drinking Jolt cola, and eventually to pure caffeine pills like No Doze and Vivarin. Eventually, I couldn't survive any morning without some form of caffeine, no matter ho much sleep I had. The same remains true today. Without caffeine, I'm slow, dim, useless, debilitated by headaches, and downright suicidal. Without caffeine, I'm nothing. After a caffeine pill or a nice strong double shot of espresso, I feel that life can be somewhat bearable after all. I feel almost happy, even though I probably have absolutely no reason to be.
ttempts to fall asleep at night in my teenage years could sometimes be traumatic. In addition to my atypical form of insomnia, I became somewhat of a neurotic hypochondriac. Despite usually working assiduously on school work until 23.00, and later catching Nightline or even Letterman, I would still have problems falling asleep. No matter how late the hour, falling asleep would be an ordeal. After getting in bed, I would inevitably begin to worry. I knew all my fears were completely irrational, but I worried nonetheless. Like a proper Virgo, I would worry about anything and everything. The dread of Monday mornings made Sunday nights the worst. Nothing had changed much since elementary school. Stressing out over grades and tests somehow always led to worrying about whether I'll develop an ulcer and burn a hole in my stomach. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I began developing uncomfortable stomach upsets which often kept me awake all night. Instead of worrying about school, my attentions inevitably turned toward whether I'll be heading to the emergency room as stomach acids eat away at my guts. I felt like going crazy lying in my bed in a state of panic hour after hour. Thus began a vicious cycle, and to this day I still have frequent bouts of sleepless nights caused by inexplicable stressing out over seemingly imminent ulcers (which, thankfully, never materialised). However, panic usually subsides with the advent of dawn.
ndeed the gods are playing a perverse game against me. Is a decent night's rest too much to ask for?
On a typical night, I'm very grateful whenever I get more than five hours of sleep.
Strangely enough, it seems that I have no trouble falling asleep whenever I'm not trying.
(I also don't seem to have trouble falling asleep after two or more all-nighters in a row.)
With or without caffeine and no matter how much sleep I get the night before, I've been known to fall asleep whenever and wherever I'm not supposed to. I could doze off in lectures, at seminars, in concerts, at the movies, while reading a boring book, while driving, or even while listening to someone whose complex explanations fail to capture my interest (e.g., teachers, my father, et al.). Perhaps my eventual acceptance of the fact that I'll never get a good night's rest might just somehow lead me to that still elusive goal.
few deeply ingrained personal habits probably exacerbated the sleeplessness at night problem.
Ever since sixth grade, I have always gone to bed with the radio turned on. I felt that without it, somehow I wouldn't be able to fall asleep. (Whether this makes sense is not the point. The fact is that the radio was always on while I slept.) I needed a background companion to help me through the difficult night. Radio often guided me through the ordeal of trying to sleep. On some occasions I would be so engrossed by the contents of the broadcasts that I would forget about trying to sleep, and somehow I would eventually fall asleep without trying. Again, conscientious attempts always proved to be futile. It seemed that I could only fall asleep inadvertently. Another reason for leaving the radio on is that the broadcasts can manage to induce lucid and often interesting dreams. It's kind of fun. Sometimes this works so well that when you wake up, you would realise that you have just dreamt whatever that was on the radio (often tuned to an NPR-affiliate carrying the BBC World Service, or to a Pacifica station, or to some college station playing weird and wonderful music). If there was a story about earthquakes, you would dream about earthquakes. Dream and reality would mesh perfectly.
ince I was a big fan of late night radio, I was naturally drawn to the graveyard shift during my stint as a college radio DJ. I did those shifts not necessarily because I was not ready for prime time (which was true), but because I felt a greater sense of freedom in terms of programming. I could be as indulgent and idiosyncratic as I wanted since nobody, including my supervisors, was listening.
I could play stuff with questionable language, without the harassment from my bosses (and hopefully from the FCC). Even though I was playing the tunes mostly for myself, I also felt that there was a deeper sense of connection between me and my handful of listeners. They were often either drunks, insomniacs, night owls, depressed losers, lonely individuals, students staying up studying, or all of the above. I could relate to those people since I'm one of them.
We all have issues with sleep. I was in good company.
nyway, back to the narrative. As I graduated from high school, things actually grew worse.
My dysfunctional relationship with sleep entered a whole new level when I entered the architecture programme as an undergraduate.
The nine years spent at the University of California at Berkeley were marked by bizarre sleeping habits. In both undergraduate and graduate levels, the hours we were expected to put in were considerable. Think of it as residency after med school, though the ends of the endeavour may not be as noble. The front door leading to my seventh floor studio in Wurster Hall had a graffiti that read "sleep deprivation lab." I exacerbated the tough load by a few other factors: the continuation of my history major simultaneously as I pursed architecture; my slow, deliberate, but careful personal working habits; and for the most part, I was a perfectionist who tried to produce the best work possible (which usually entailed investing more time than other people). An allocated period for sleep was not something I looked forward to every night at a certain time. Instead, sleep was something I did whenever I could get away with it, or whenever I simply collapse from exhaustion. Looking back on my quotidian rouintines, some patterns emerge.
typical day in school (if there ever was one) would probably begin with morning classes and/ or desk crits with professors.
I wouldn't take any courses earlier than 09.00; classes offered earlier simply would not exist for me. (One of my worst academic experiences entailed sleepwalking through an entire semester of three to four hours of physics lab beginning at 08.00.)
After morning classes, I would have lunch (or breakfast, as usually the case). In the afternoon, there world be more classes or labs.
I would sometimes also attend to clerical duties at the radio station. In the late afternoon, I would return to my apartment to catch a nap for two to three hours. After waking up, I would grab something to eat. Far too often I would end up at the Durant food court or Fat Slice.
If there was a bit of time, I would hit the various Berkeley bookstores and record shops.
Usually around 21.00, I would go back to the studio, sometimes with my takeaway dinner with coffee. Unfortunately, I tend to goof-off, and just hang and chill for the next few hours.
I need to ease in my work, and I really took my time. I fuck around. Most of the time, I would visit other people's desks, or they would visit mine.
Sometimes we would give each other crits, but most of the time would just be wasted doing nothing in particular. However, some of the most interesting and stimulation conversations happen around this time.
We could talk about anything, perhaps even architecture. Anyway, it reminded me of those wonderful late night impromptu discussions held in the hallways of dorms and co-ops during my early undergraduate days.
These were the moments that make the whole college experience most worthwhile. Before midnight, my studio mates and I would often make a final run to Caffe Strada across the street from Wurster Hall to stock up on caffeine and sweets before it closed at midnight.
My work as a student was mostly done between midnight and dawn.
Sometimes I was actually productive enough for me to leave studio before 04.00, and on more than a few of those occasions, I was able to find deer in front of the stoop of my apartment.
(Unfortunately, I was also quite concerned about running into a skunk in the middle of the night.
In my north Berkeley neighbourhood, they go as they please, usually after dusk.)
People who tended to keep these extreme hours often wind up becoming my best friends.
We were a small bunch of dedicated students who were perhaps failures in terms of time management.
Our sleeping schedules were totally screwed. Sleep deprivation was our bond. Two or more all-nighters in a row were not uncommon.
I remember the inability to articulate in coherent sentences (let alone coherent thought) after long periods without sleep.
Falling asleep in mid-sentence or during the process of chewing food happened quite a few times.
I remember having to call a friend and telling him to wake up and come to the studio at 23.30 so he won't fall seriously behind.
I remember a student was so tired that when she woke up from her crash break, she thought that it was 07.00 A.M. when it was actually 07.00 P.M.
I also remember that once a friend had to phone from school to wake me up for a mid-day review of my own project since I had overslept and was about to miss it.
feeling of dread would envelop me whenever the "morning sounds" arrive.
The first of these was the chirping of birds (followed by the appearance of the first hint of a tint of blue in the sky heralding the irrevocable coming of daybreak).
You can't believe how the normally innocuous sounds of little birdies could be so demoralizing. I felt like strangling each and every one of them.
On a decent night, the waking of birds was the sign to start wrapping up what I'm doing, go back home, and go to sleep.
On the other hand, it could also be a sign that I'm just way, way behind in my work, and that I only have a few hours left before the deadline.
Following the annoying and discouraging sounds coming from birds, next came the sounds of disposal, food delivery, grounds, and other service vehicles.
The next thing you know, students are slowly streaming back on campus. It's too late now.
You're fucked.
(To architecture students out there: I loathed the feeling when I walk in the wrong direction in the morning after an all-nighter in the studio.
When other students are starting their day and streaming back on campus to start their day, you're barely completing your previous day by leaving the campus.
You just want to go back to your apartment, maybe take a shower, and if possible, crash for a few hours before you have to come back to campus and start all over again.)
ince architecture school, I've always equated night with work, daylight with catching up with sleep if possible.
This sure does a lot of good when you're working in the real world. When I see sunlight outside, I just want to go into bed. It's a force of habit.
Needless to say, it's hard for me to feel motivated these days as part of the workforce.
ere's where I am these days, among the work force at large, with the grown-ups. I still keep relatively late hours despite having a day job. The last things I do each night are things that most people do in the mornings: shower, shave, eat cereal, take vitamins, brush teeth, floss, etc.
While I still manage to attend to my ablutions and teeth brushing every morning (with NPR in the background as always), I usually find it too traumatic after I wake up to do anything more.
As a result, I usually forgo making breakfasts or taking showers after I wake up. God I hate mornings, and I try to do as little as possible during that time.
It's essentially out of bed and straight into work for me.
There's usually only about forty-five minutes from the time I wake up to being at my desk at work.
My mornings feel tired and depressed because somehow I'm still unable or unwilling to get enough sleep.
Staying up late is such a nasty, but unbreakable, habit for me. I try to get in bed after the Conan O'Brien monologue.
Then I try to fall asleep with a book, with the radio humming in the background.
However, my present relationship with sleep is not always so unhealthy.
On weekends and on nights when I sleep with Dennis, I feel rather comfortable, surprisingly enough. Considering my difficult personality, I can't believe how easily I adapted to sleeping with another person on a regular basis.
Nothing in my life is supposed to be this easy. We get along in bed. We can talk about anything. We laugh whenever anyone of us farts in bed, which is quite often.
Most importantly, with him by my side, I feel that I have more courage to face the world and live life. I don't need the radio. He wouldn't allow me to drift into a sleepless night of worry and angst.
We're quite compatible while we're sleeping since we're both relatively calm sleepers. I would drool a little, and so would he. No big deal.
We would tell each other to sleep on our sides whenever one of us starts to snore. Problem solved easily. I love waking up in each other's arms.
do believe that ultimately I am a night person.
No matter how hard I try, I don't belong in the world of daylight.
I'm condemned to remain an outsider. All these years of effort hasn't gotten me anywhere. God knows I've tried so many times to keep normal hours.
Unfortunately, there are just not enough hours in a day for me to do all that I wanted, and sleep always ended up being the activity to be compromised.
Anyway, in a perfect world, and if I were given the choice of what hours to work, I would pick late nights and early mornings over conventional daytime hours.
As a matter of fact, from the time of my being a teenager and onward, I would often fondly rhapsodise the periods when I can enjoy staying up all night and sleeping all day.
I don't think that it's entirely coincidental that those were the rare times in my life when I could confidently feel that I'm somewhere close to a semblance of happiness.
I didn't necessarily stay out clubbing and having fun all night; I simply enjoyed doing things when it's dark out instead of during daytime.
I would feel more focused and less distracted when the rest of the world is dark and asleep. Too bad there aren't any swing shift positions for architects.
16 August 2001
