Every Sunday night I have insomnia. I call it...Sunday Night Insomnia.
It doesn't matter if I take a nap or not.
It doesn't matter if I'm in bed at 8 pm with my eyes shut tight, or flopping into bed at midnight.
It doesn't matter what I've eaten.
It doesn't matter what I've watched on tv.
Every Sunday night I have insomnia, and I don't fall asleep until 2 or 3 am, which wouldn't be all that bad if I didn't have to get up at 5 am for work. Which adds to my worry about my Sunday Night Insomnia, which adds to the duration of my Sunday Night Insomnia.
So it follows, then, that I get through Mondays on a wing and a pray.
But back to Sunday night...
On Sunday night I lay in bed and think of how much of a struggle it still is for me to deal with church, and how I have to do it all over again next week. Sometimes I just want to run screaming from pews and singing and everyone showing up and programs and smiling and all of us trying to fit on the same path to redemption. Hymn books, prayers, scriptures, words, shared cultural perceptions and expectations, week in and week out. Then I wonder how much of a sin it is that I think that way. Then I think about how the answer to that question has implications to the nature of the Savior, then I think about the implications the nature of the Savior has on what's going to happen to me in the hereafter...rabbit hole.
On Sunday night I lay in bed and think of how some people have an other, and why some people don't. Not in a sad way, but in a 'Isn't it weird that some people are part of a pair, and some people are not part of a pair?' way. Then I think of the paired people I know and try to figure out what makes them different from the unpaired people I know, myself included. 'What were they like at 16?...at 21?...at 24?...What did they major in at school? How does their family celebrate Christmas? What kind of cars do they drive?' If I didn't know them at those ages or in those circumstances, I think up answers and fill in their stories for them. Then I puzzle, puzzle, puzzle over these answers, real or fake...rabbit hole.
On Sunday nights I lay in bed and think of the person I really want to be, and why I'm still standing on the cusp of action. Or maybe I'll concede that I have taken steps towards becoming that person, but I worry that I won't have enough time to do what I was sent to do, or enough time to develop into who I need to be given the pace I'm moving at. What should I have done yesterday to reach my goals? How should I change my life tomorrow? If I could adopt just one life altering change this week...rabbit hole.
On Sunday nights I lay in bed and think of all the years I had panic attacks that sent me regularly to the emergency room. These attacks took so much out of me physically and mentally I was certain that one day they would wear out my heart muscles, and I'd slowly drift off into a deep and final sleep -- weeping, solitary, and exhausted. To be truthful, that didn't always seem like the worst thing that could happen. Peace, peace. I just wanted peace.
I remember the night I was curled up in an anxious, panicked, and hopeless ball on the living room couch of my basement apartment below Slate Canyon. I was sobbing and vomiting and dealing with pain that felt like someone was stabbing me in the stomach and clenching my intestines in an unrelenting vice. This was deep in the middle of a hot Utah summer, and that old house had no air conditioning. My inner circle of hell! I prayed for relief, and in a moment of desperation opened the front door and let the cool, crisp desert air flood in. I can't even sleep soundly with a window unlocked, let alone opened, so I was surprised that I felt so safe throwing that door wide open to the night. Desperation can make mole hills out of mountains.
As that delicious cool air rushed in, I felt it pour relief on me like chilled aloe on a sunburn. Or like the icy cold water at the bottom of a river that flows over your aching feet. The force of that relief was so strong and so personal at the same time. I felt it take me by the hand, walk me back to the couch, pull up the blankets, and wash away my sorrows and fears. It said, 'I know you would never normally do this, but you'll be safe and sound tonight. In this time, and in this place, nothing is allowed to bother you. Peace, peace.' It was like someone flipped off a deeply hidden switch in my brain to save me from myself. I fell asleep immediately and slept for hours and hours.
I will never forget how I felt waking up the next day. I was completely safe and deeply rested, and grateful for the miraculous sanctification of that cold, cold air.
Well, we all know why I can't sleep on Sunday nights. Maybe one day this cycle of my life will break as well. It makes me wonder how relief will come then. And wonder why relief hasn't come yet. And wonder if I should switch to a later shift at work so I can sleep longer on Monday mornings. But then I'd have to deal with traffic and...Whoops. Rabbit hole.
I am open to more miracles.
