i don’t want to go to sleep

notes on sleep avoidance

image by matthew cooper & dall-e

i bring my phone or computer, or both, to bed at night. what follows is a few hours of nondirectional screen time. youtube. instagram. the economist. research on electric toothbrushes. porn. news. netflix (scroll, but never watch anything). email. wall street journal. youtube. etc. 

each night its own dim adventure. 

it was not always this way. there were periods when i used to go to bed, read a book, and fall asleep. however, late-night dysfunction is the norm of my adult life. 

brief improvements in routine have, from time to time, been achieved by shaming myself into making a change. 

life hacks have produced short-lived gains. i left my devices in the hallway, downloaded apps that limit phone usage, joined a group chat where people announce when they turn devices off, attempted the elusive “nighttime routine,” and shared my struggles with others. 

today, i am less interested in shame and self-criticism as motivators. i am trying curiosity. i’m curious about the sadness that arises when i plan a night without my devices. the feelings suggests that, in some way, these screens are self-care. 

i’ve started conversations with the voices in my head that don’t want to put the screens down. four voices make a regular appearance in the small hours: 

voice 1: “do it now” 

this voice must get the next thing done. “check the schedule for that event in three weeks.” “register for that workshop.” "check the to do list. today is better than tomorrow. when better to finish on your taxes than 2 am? 

voice 2:  “this is the only time we get to rest”

i’m fascinated by this voice.  from its view, my days are endless doing - stretch, dress, work, exercise, cook, respond to crappy texts, then, then, then, then, we finally get in bed with our computer. “this is the only time we get to play.” “this is the only time i get to rest.” “this is the only time you have for you”. it is not easy to write these words down as this awareness has a lot of intensity. 

voice 3: “stillness will destroy us”

this is a protective part. it must avoid the discomfort of being still. painful emotions could end us. “the anxiety is too much.” “you will feel sad.” “you will be overwhelmed if you stop.” “it’s safer to keep moving.” this voice gets more desperate the later i stay up, as the shame i will face when i stop becomes greater and greater. 

voice 4:  “i can’t face tomorrow” 

this voice feels too weak and too small for what lies ahead. “i don't want to wake up tomorrow”.  “it's better to stay in today.” the world is scary and overwhelming. dark figures might destroy us. if i don’t sleep, i don't have to wake up. 

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these voices together seem like a decent reason to stay awake. yet i miss life with early nights and early mornings without an alarm when i felt i was in my happiest rhythm. 

my friend calls compulsive actions like screen use “oblivion seeking”. i love that term. it captures the imperative to disappear from my body and into the mind. screen content with low emotional charge helps sever the mind-body connection. it brings a vital, if incomplete, peace. 

i carry some shame being an adult struggling with numerous activities of daily living (ADLs, for those in the know). brushing my teeth, going to sleep, feeding myself, shaving, etc can overwhelm me. often i avoid them altogether as long as possible. knowing many others face similar challenges does not dull the sense that i shouldn't struggle in this way.

my screens-in-bed situation is manageable, if not ideal. i don’t have the solution. chatting conversationally with the worried voices in my head helps. 

i’m open to mystical solutions too. at the beach this evening, i rolled a smooth stone through my fingers. i asked the stone for guidance on this nighttime domain. it gave me this question: 

what if your body was not your enemy? 

we will see what’s next.  

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may 2024