The Edge of Night

I can’t say I’m surprised, being worried sick about finances and it being almost summer, but late nights are getting to be a problem for me again.

I’m still going to bed at a regular time (although I do push it to the limit—11:30 PM—almost every night). It’s just that my meds aren’t kicking in until after midnight now, and I lie awake in bed staring into the darkness and telling myself that I’m not going to solve ANYTHING at one o’clock in the morning. I sleep well once I finally do fall asleep, but getting there has become a battle once more.

So far it hasn’t affected my mood, which is why I thought it would be fine to decrease my Zyprexa dosage. This nighttime wakefulness predates the adjustment, and has been problematic for a couple of weeks; it doesn’t change the amount of sleep I need or my lack of motivation in the mornings. It only concerns me because I know where it can lead, especially now that my favorite season is almost here and I’m fighting my own biology to try to maintain the routine that’s so important to my stability.

I’ve always been a night-owl. Always. Keeping up with the rest of the universe on a daytime schedule has been a struggle for me throughout my life. Even this somewhat liberalized schedule that Dr. Awesomesauce put in place isn’t natural to me, although I can certainly see the merits in it as it does keep me more in sync with the workaday world. It’s easier in the winter, because I’m a slug anyway and the long, cold nights make me yearn for the cozy warmth of my bed. But come summer, I’m loving the hot days and the delightfully warm evenings, which in my neck of the woods are still light even at 10 PM. Who wants to go to sleep when there’s so much to be enjoyed and so much energy to burn?

At least I’m not up rearranging the sock drawer at two-thirty in the morning. I don’t think Will would allow it now (he enforces Dr. A’s instructions to the letter) and I can only imagine what the good doctor himself would say if I started that shit again. And I’m not manic—not even close—plus I’m still getting adequate amounts of rest. Nothing wrong with that…..it’s lying in bed for an hour and a half, stewing in my own anxiety and wishing I could get up and do something to distract myself from it, that’s the problem.

I suppose I’m going to have to try taking my pills earlier in the evening. It used to take less than an hour for them to kick in; now it takes at least two hours, and more recently it’s been taking as long as three-and-a-half.  I’ve cut my caffeine consumption to the point where I don’t have any after about three in the afternoon (even though in winter, I can drink a cup of coffee well after dinnertime and still be able to sleep). That’s not easy to do, because I love my evening cuppa joe with dessert, but I’m trying.

Better yet, someone just needs to hurry up and give me a job so I don’t have to sweat over where next week’s groceries are going to come from, or how the hell I’m going to be able to afford my meds when I need to pay rent. These aren’t First World problems we’re talking about anymore, and no matter what other distractions bring me to the edge of night with no inclination to sleep, these are the kind that are guaranteed to keep me awake, not to mention slightly nauseated. Lucky me.