The Dark of Night

Every evening, I sit back and relax, feeling gratitude for my day and conscious of fatigue settling over me. There might be a small cup of tea involved, a little conversation, and perhaps a few games of solitaire.

Time passes, and my partner eventually starts her bedtime routine. I should be following suit.  Instead, I start playing solitaire with an intensity unsuitable for the late hour.

Eventually I go through the motions, putting on my pajamas and brushing my teeth, but by now, I have a knot in my belly and I'm wide awake again. I kiss my partner good night, give the dog a scratch and return to my living room chair. 

I am always aware of my heart beat at this hour. Sometimes it feels fluttery. Other times it feels louder than it should be. I expect this is a side effect of the hyper-vigilance that has settled in. 

I have tried going to bed feeling like this and the results are rarely good.  I usually get frustrated, as my mind races, and am soon out of bed again.  Ativan helps, but isn't enough to let me fully relax. 

So, instead, I play forest sounds on the Google speaker, and settle into my chair.

Sometimes I'm up until 2 a.m. Other nights it's after dawn before my eyelids droop and the desire to sleep drowns out everything else.

I'm calmer about all this now than I used to be.  I don't have to get up at a set hour, and I have the luxury of being able to adjust my expectations of myself if I get little sleep.  

I remember when I was working and struggling with sleep disruption. Eventually the anxiety about how I was going to cope the next day was as bad as the anxiety driving the sleep issues. At least that's no longer a major concern.

Being calmer has let me explore my thoughts when I feel like this. I feel I understand what is happening. 

My grandfather died of congestive heart failure in his sleep in his early sixties. There were no warning signs the night before.  He followed his evening routine, went to bed and never woke up.

I'm pretty sure the fear of not waking up again is behind my bedtime issues. Nestled in my subconscious is the notion that my damaged heart might suddenly quit on me.  It remains quiet during the day, but as darkness closes in this changes.

I've had a love/hate relationship with my heart since my original event. On the one hand, this is the heart that sustained me through SCAD. It has beaten the odds and I'm still here. On the other hand, it has done all that, and as a result is broken and now struggles. It works harder for me now than ever. Surely it must be tired. Will it stop tonight, I wonder?

These sorts of questions rarely lead to supportive self talk. So, for now, I sit in my chair, peering at my smart phone as I type this (blue light filter on).  I'll soon switch back to solitaire and wait for the biological need for sleep to shout everything else down.

I know if all else fails, dawn will eventually break through the dark of night.  My psyche will breathe a sigh of relief and finally release me, comforted by the brightening sky and first bird song.  

And I will gratefully slip into sleep's comforting embrace knowing I've made it through to another day.