Behind The Wall Of Sleep

                         

I'm not crazy. I'm not sure why I thought I might be. I don't know why I've always doubted my body, doubted my mind.

Since moving to Kobe, I've finally started seeing a decent doctor whose been investigating my various health problems with the ultimate goal of treating and controlling them. It feels good to know someone is working towards reducing the increasingly negative effect that my asthma and everything that goes with it has been having on my life. But, more than that, is the relief of having someone make it official that I'm not faking, exaggerating, masking my laziness or making excuses. Not that anyone has been suggesting such a thing.

When I mentioned my relief to my wife, said that I'm happy to have confirmation that there actually is something wrong, she said of course there is and that she's been telling me all along that I'm sick. So who's doubting me?

I guess I am.

I've always had difficulty gauging wether my feelings (both physical and emotional) were true and to what extent they were serious or out of the ordinary. I'm tired, sick, sad? Well everyone's tired. No one feels 100% all the time. Everyone's sad and everyone has it tough. They are just better at dealing with it and getting on with what needs to be done.

It's true that there is a deep vein of laziness that runs through my life and I am in a constant struggle to push myself into action. My default seems to be complacency, doing almost nothing and generally taking it easy. That this is one major pillar of my being ,while another is a constant drive to create,  has always struck me as a cruel cosmic joke.

(I often wish that having a job that I'm quite good at, being a good husband and friend, and maybe having a hobby would be enough to satisfy me. I could be very happy. But alas…)

Being sick and being tired is bad and takes a lot of energy away from the things I have to and want to be doing, but at least as much energy is wasted feeling guilty for being sick and tired. I hate myself for not doing whatever thing it was that I did or didn't really want to do. I worry that I am weak. I am lying to myself to avoid the stresses and messes of life. Just stay on the couch. It's a lot easier.

I'm not trying to say I haven't used an illness to avoid some undesirable commitment on at least several hundred occasions. When I remember my late teens/ early twenties ( I can sometimes make out vague forms through the mist) I did sometimes exaggerate symptoms, overplay headaches, turning discomfort into pain. But how else to explain not wanting to get out of bed, or leave the house. A sinus infection is more acceptable than saying "I'm sad". I can say now, though, that SOMETHING was wrong.

I'm not the kind to psychoanalyze myself. I'm not one to self diagnose or to turn life's challenges, my personal quirks or  other's irritating behavior into medical conditions. But here I go…

I think I was depressed.

I think that for several years, I may have been going through varying levels of depression. I would never have said so at the time. Not sure why. I think I felt I didn't deserve to be depressed. I had a wonderful family, lots of friends, plenty of support, and many potential mentors. Most problems in my life were self-inflicted and I rarely reached out for help. The few times I opened up to anyone about the sadness in my life they usually pitied me, comforted me, and tried as best they could to do what they could. But I felt selfish, manipulative and utterly disgusted with myself. Making others feel bad, burdening them with my troubles felt almost worse than the heavy sorrow I carried already.

Colds, headaches, throat infections, sinus infections became the cover (though they were often real?) for the source of my real pain. From lying to my Grandmother to avoid going to high school and it's soul crushing environment, to missing work, calling in sick, and staying away from the emotional drain of interacting with people all day, to a shaky start to university, I could always "be sick". Staying home where the guilt ate me alive was somehow easier. Eventually, though, even I was no longer sure when I was sick or when I just had to take a break from life.

To this day, I still wonder if i am legitimately sick or hiding. If I'm taking a time-out form the relentlessness of doing stuff and talking to people. That's why my recent trips to the doctor have brought me some relief.

First of all, I do have asthma and it's pretty bad. According to the numbers, I should feel like shit everyday, and I do! It's not just a bunch of symptoms my mind has created as a physical manifestation of the fact that I want to run away from my job and never go back; I actually have restricted breathing.

The other finding has farther reaching implications and therefore has provided me with the greatest comfort. I have sleep apnea.

I'm tired. All my adult life, I've been tired. I know, everyone's tired. However, I wake up every morning and I am exhausted. I am often more tired than when I went to sleep. My body aches as if I had been restrained against my will as I struggled to get free for eight hours. I never wake up rested and refreshed. 

The sleep test showed that I stop breathing in my sleep 28.5 times an hour. The longest stretch was for more than a minute and a half. Which would explain why I occasionally have nightmares where I am suffocating, screaming but making no sound, or am trapped/ restrained somewhere and wake up screaming at the top of my lungs.

So, I'm getting a mouth guard made to keep my lower jaw in place and my tongue from blocking my throat while I sleep. Let's hope that works because sleeping well should help with just about everything else that's wrong with me. What's more, though, with all these recent realizations t I can stop wasting energy wondering how much is in my mind, feeling guilty, and hating myself and use all my energy to get better and improve my life.