Recently, I’ve been asked the same question repeatedly by my fellow family members in the morning, and that question is “how did you sleep last night?”.
The first time I heard that question, I thought they were receipting a Nirvana song incorrectly. After that confusion was resolved, I then realised what the family member was talking about, and that was my quality of sleep for the previous night.
So, for both my family and everyone else (which is more than two…) I give you a review of my sleep for the past fortnight.
Oh, how you fell for that. Fell for that hard.
No, I will not hinder your eyes with a wall of my sleep patterns. Well, that is not entirely true, and I apologise for that shallow lie.
The thing is, recently (technically since early 2010), my sleep has been messing up. Not in the “oh, I think I have insomnia” manner, no. More in the sense that I wake up screaming and not knowing where I am. And that’s not fun. Not fun at all.
At first, I thought I was having a nightmare, considering that they came after a dream. For example, the first time (early 2010) it happened I dreamt that I was lying on something that was covered with a thin layer of some sort of liquid. It then decided to cover me, consuming me in the process. What made it freakier is that it was in a sort of sepia tone, and it was in third person. All I remember is that I began to scream in the dream, and the next minute I was standing outside my bedroom screaming. Not a good thing, isn’t it?
It only happened three times in 2010, but from then on I began to hate sleeping even more than I did before. Because, as I see it, if humans were not built in the way of needing sleep to recharge, then I would happily avoid sleep at all costs. Then again, I would say the same about food.
The thing with me and those three times that I woke up screaming is that it has made me extremely wary about sleeping in general. Even if it has not happened in a very long time, it plays in my head. “Will it happen tonight?”, my mind will wonder. “How bad will it be?”, another possible thought as I lie on my bed, staring at a blank wall of whiteness.
This year, of since January 2011 for those who like dates, it has happened more times than I care to remember or want to remember. Though not every night, they still come. Sometimes there’s a gap of over a month, other times there is a cluster of days when I don’t have a normal night sleep.
I began to hate my brain, and for this I went to the doctors to see what they think it was. Their verdict? Night terrors.
This seemed weird, due to the fact that night terrors are usually found in children, and are usually grown out of at the age of around seven or eight years old. My mother, out of curiosity, asked if there’s a chance that it could be epilepsy, to which the doctor claimed that it was unlikely. The doctor (medical doctor now, not fictional) then stated that this is virtually untreatable, due to the fact that any medication for it could actually make things worse, either by making the “episodes” more frequent or much more stronger.
It was only recently, after a few months after the doctor’s appointment, that it happened again, much different than the last times. Less frequent were the screams, though more apparent were the shaking and panicking. The most recent one was last Sunday (the day when I started writing this, as I had one on the Saturday too).
That one was much different than any other time, as I woke up rather normally. Though, after about two minutes, I began to feel differently. My heart rate began to increase, and my ears began to somewhat hollow out. I knew something was going to happen.
Luckily, my mother was there, becoming the pillar of strength where I wrapped my arms around for the next seven minutes. Why, I hear you cry? Well, because my body began to shake. I had no control of it, yet I was conscious. I had no idea what was wrong, though at that point it seemed that whatever I have, if I have anything in the first place, this is not night terrors. Also, my mother began to think otherwise too, as she said she had done research on it and believes that I have a form of epilepsy.
After the latest “episode”, we visited the hospital, and after a five and a half hour wait, I saw a doctor. I was then reffered to a medic who did more tests on me. They want to make sure that I don’t have epilepsy. So, in two months, I will be going back as an outpatient to have more tests.
I have not written this in search of sympathy, my dear world. I’m not that much of an egotistical person. I thought that maybe, this information could help someone if they had been through the same thing. I don’t know.
I thank ye, world.
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