Monday, March 14, 2011


I am an insomniac who likes the dark. I like sunshine, too. Nothing is more relaxing than lying on my bed as winter becomes spring --- golden rays beaming warmth across my skin. But equally I like cool, rainy Sundays, under a light blanket, with the windows open --- rain pattering, the smell of wet earth, a good book and a pot of coffee.

My insomnia is not triggered by stress as I once thought. I have been Type A, high strung, and driven for most of my life. My mother says I was walking and talking (this surprises no one who knows me) before I was 11 months old. In grade school I routinely had elaborate, finely detailed stories for show and tell. And at some point my desk (organized and cleaned on a weekly basis by me) was moved next to the teacher. Evidently I talked too much.

As I got older my ability to chat and overachieve also increased. In time I became a level of OCD that did not happen overnight. Mine was the kind that had to be cultivated over years, an exacting perfection that no human could maintain, especially not Desi Girl. I even volunteer with a vengeance!

So in some ways I am my worst enemy because I push myself to perform at a level that will always be outside of my reach. Add that to my curious habit of over-committing ---I become so busy I actually begin to thrive on the stress. So see, stress is nothing new to me.

Therefore, I can only deduce that I am being dishonest. With myself. And until I come clean with my inner me, my anxiety will not allow me to sleep anytime soon. Sometimes I think I keep myself so busy, working and solving other problems that I don’t focus on me. But eventually denial catches up with you – and one night you find yourself wide awake, sitting in front of the open fridge, cool air blowing, white light glowing, eating fat-free Cool Whip straight of the container, passing time until dawn.

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