feralhound17 said:I’ve noticed I sleep way better when I’m absolutely wiped out from work or hitting the gym hard—basically, once I actually hit that REM stage.
If I’m just sleeping lightly and catching every little noise, I never wake up feeling rested. It’s like, I’d feel refreshed if I could just crash hard enough to dream and stop registering everything happening around me.
Also, I’ve realized that sticking to a strict bedtime and waking up at the same time every single day is pretty much a life-or-death matter for me.
Nicholas Gonzalez8 said:Facts. I am telling you, I’ve learned this the hard way through my own chaotic trial and error 🙂
And yet, I am somehow still drawing breath. 😁
It is difficult to even begin to articulate my sleep schedule, if one can even call it that. There are stretches where I’ll manage a few disjointed two-hour bouts scattered across a twenty-four-hour period, and then there are those darker stretches where I might go thirty hours without blinking, only to crash for fourteen straight hours once the exhaustion finally wins. Occasionally, I’ll fall into a semblance of a "normal" rhythm, though naturally, it never aligns with the sun; I find myself drifting off around six or seven in the morning, only to sleep for another seven or eight hours before the world starts moving again.
It’s even harder to put into words just how much my life was consumed by college.
i Work is a grind right now. Honestly, focusing on my degree is the only thing that actually feels relevant, so I might as well lean into that for a while.
The issues first started surfacing around the age of twelve or thirteen, if my memory serves me right. Back then, I actually thought it was some kind of superpower—I’d pull those all-nighters, getting maybe four hours of sleep, and walk around feeling absolutely invincible. 🙂
Exercise, diet, stress—it’s all part of the equation, I suppose, though I’ve come to realize that my mind is the primary culprit in this little drama. The reality is that there are nights when I lie there staring at the ceiling for an hour or two, unable to drift off, which makes forcing sleep a completely futile exercise. But more often than not, it isn't an inability to sleep; it’s a refusal. I’m haunted by this persistent, nagging sensation that if I finally close my eyes, I’m just wasting precious time—as if going to bed is somehow an act of surrender, a way of letting life pass me by while I’m unconscious. 🤷