Insomnia and the distortion of time

Did you know that our sense of time gets distorted as we grow tired? In your heart of hearts you did. That’s why in the wee hours of the morning, when you can’t sleep, you find yourself dwelling on the past; on every decision you ever made; while the future stretches out almost too intimidatingly to perceive. When you’ve got energy it’s like you’re leaning forward on a bicycle that’s racing down a hill; eyes sharp and alert, peering far far ahead, and not a second behind…but as we grow more and more tired over the course of the day that bike begins to slow, and we settle back into our seats; the past slowly catching up with us. Eventually we begin to coast uphill, and really start to slow down– and if we’re wise, we crash out and get some shut eye before we come to a stop and start to roll backwards. Often this isn’t the case; often we attempt sleep only after we start rolling backwards, at which point we’re too freaked out to doze off. It’s a bitch.

During these humid July weeks I often don’t sleep so well; even with the fan and the air conditioner on full blast, there’s something about the languid summer air that disagrees with my slumber. These last few weeks I’ve woken with a headache I can only assume is dehydration related; but it feels like I wake up and I just barely have enough momentum to roll uphill for a few hours, before I begin to coast backwards in my perception of time. It’s unpleasant.

As you well know, when I was a kid I spent most of my time in a daycare in a giant condemned three story red-brick schoolhouse from the 1800s. What you might not know was that I hated being there when I was there; that I only ever wanted to just be with my parents; and that I am beginning to think that it’s the fountainhead of most of my adult problems. While nostalgia can be lovely, especially for such a romantic setting such as that, it’s only in the aesthetics– emotionally, I felt all alone for too long, as every 8 hour day at that age would drag on longer than a year it seems at my present age. No child is born an introvert, but that’s where I was forced into my introversion, and perhaps at too early of an age. I felt abandoned by my parents, an issue I would unwittingly take into adulthood, and one that would prevent me from ever abandoning anyone I felt obligated to. At the same time, I was never able to compromise my "you’re probably about to be abandoned again" disposition, and kept my respective distance throughout all of my interpersonal relationships; the obvious consequence, of course, being that everyone I ever knew would eventually abandon me (I sure wasn’t going to abandon them, and since I always kept a great distance, it’s the only logical and eventual outcome).

So tonight, as I coast backwards through time, I revisit all the people who have left. I listen to the clock tick and worry for no one. I have no more obligation, but I’m just fine; still just that kid sitting in the corner peering out the barred window at my departing parents.