One advantage night has over day is that every hour looks the same. This is especially relevant to the insomniacs. It’s 4:30, and paradoxically, I’ve grown *more* alert as the night drags on. I stare into the dancing gray dots that my eyes interpret as darkness, and I am glad of this, that 1AM has the same despairing look as 2AM as 3AM as 4AM. If I don’t watch the clock, I can pretend it’s only been an hour since I began this battle.
But it’s too late. Like Orpheus, I already looked.
Spare me the platitudes about exercise, keeping regular hours, and cognitive behavioral therapy; about sunshine, warm milk, and lavender. They say that insanity is trying the same trick twice, and expecting two different results. I’m not insane. I stopped trying.
If there is any consolation to be had–and it is clear that there is none–it is only that this night isn’t so special. It has happened before, and will happen again.