Insomnia: A Brooklyn Tale

“Kate, when was the last time you slept?” Dana asked with a concerned frown and I looked up in surprise. “What?” I asked and she gave me a pointed look. “Dana, I’m fine…” I returned the paintbrush to the pan, wiped my hands on my old jeans and retied my blonde curls, which had started to come undone. “Right…and that’s why you’re painting your spare bedroom…again.” “I was in the mood for a new color…” I picked up the brush again and dipped it into the golden, creamy colored paint. “Right…a new color. Sweetie, you painted it two months ago.” She pointed out and I looked at her – my green eyes wide. “No, I didn’t…” I trailed off. Did I? “Yes, you did. I helped you pick the color.” She reminded me, flicking her dark hair back over her shoulder and folding her arms. I grinned at her demeanor. Having a best friend with a pristine memory was not always a good thing. Sometimes I wished she would forget things like that, or at least ignore them. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” She asked bluntly, all humor gone. My gaze fell to the floor as if I could find the answer there, but my silence was reply enough for her. She sighed. “What did the doctor say?” She asked and I looked up at her and shrugged. “He prescribed new medication.” I said simply. She didn’t need to know that he did so with a very concerned frown. “Kate…” “Dana! It’s okay. I got in a whole two hours last night. I’m fine.” I cut her off and she shook her head in disappointment. I set down the paintbrush and turned my full attention to her. “D, what would you have me do? If I can’t sleep, I can’t sleep. It’s not something I can control. You know that.” I continued and she sighed defeated. She knew I was right. We had had this conversation countless times over the last thirteen years. “I’m just worried about you.” She mumbled and I couldn’t help but smile. “I know…and I appreciate it more than you know, but I’m okay for now.” I told her before wrapping her in an unexpected hug. She hung around for a few more minutes before she had to run. Lately it felt like she only ever popped in to check on me. Time brought change and we rarely just hung out now. Ever since she had met Jeremy, the very attractive Harvard student, at a party a year ago, her visits had become fewer and shorter until now it had trickled down into a fifteen minute session every other day. But I looked forward to those precious moments. I found myself glancing at the clock more often than not, anxiously waiting for five fifteen when her hesitant knock would sound at the front door. She never rang the doorbell, one of the traits she picked up from my protective family. Ringing the bell would wake me if, by some miracle I had managed to fall asleep. I didn’t blame her for her retreat. She still cared about me the same she did when we were kids, but I had pushed her away, just like I pushed away my family. No one deserved to be stuck with someone like me. There was no routine, no constant. Everything revolved around one thing – sleep. I had lied. I wasn’t really fine. It was a constant struggle for me to go through each day feeling like falling asleep but almost never being able to do so. As soon as I would lie down to catch a wink, sleep would arrogantly flee from me. It was like a cruel joke was being played on me…everyday…slowly but, surely driving me insane. And just when I thought I was breaking through the barriers of true insanity I would lose consciousness for a few hours. For the last thirteen years this had been my life. The only sleep I managed were short intervals of a few minutes each, and every now and again I would get lucky with an hour or maybe two. It resulted in me always, as in every single second of the day, being tired and worn out. Through the years I had perfected ‘acting awake’. I was very good at pasting on a chirpy smile that made my cheeks hurt while inside I was shaking with exhaustion. That was my normal – a foggy state of relative consciousness. And I was okay with it, because, well, I was used to it. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be truly alert. After seeing Dana out, I returned to my paintbrush. I let my hazy mind drift a little. I had long since lost my ability to focus fully on something and so I was content with only brushing memories and thoughts. While I painted, my thoughts drifted to Indiana. My parents still lived Clayton, Indiana, in the same house I had grown up in, and in the same house I had had the accident in. But being over 700 miles away did not stop them from being a tad over-protective. Mom still phoned almost every day to find out if I had been eating or ‘resting’, as she phrased it. When it wasn’t she that called, it was my sister, Natalie. She was two years older than me. So it came to no surprise when the phone rang half an hour later. “Katie, honey…how are you?” My mother’s familiar voice sounded on the other end of the line when I answered. “Hey, Mom. I’m well, how are you?” I was making conversation, focusing hard on sounding chirpy and upbeat. “We’re good, sweetheart, just missing you.” She always mentioned how they missed me. I believed they truly did, but I also figured they enjoyed not always having to worry about my energy levels. “I miss you too. How is dad?” “Oh, you know your father. So…what have you eaten today?” She tried to be subtle and I smiled. “I was just about to order me some pizza, actually.” I replied. The idea had just come to me and I decided that it was a good one. “That’s wonderful, sweetie. And did you give your eyes a little break?” She asked. “Yep! Slept two hours last night and closed my eyes for a little while when I came back from class.” I informed her. “That’s good, that’s good…you know…’Gone With The Wind’ is showing on MGM tonight.” It was one of the tricks they had used to lull me to sleep sometimes as a teenager. When I was first diagnosed with Chronic Idiopathic Insomnia, we followed all the rules the doctors gave us, and they classified watching TV to fall asleep as a ‘bad sleeping habit’. But after months and months of tests and treatments and countless nights of me, sobbing myself into nothingness, only to end up staring at the pristine ceiling of my specially organized bedroom, dad snapped. And a silent unspoken rule originated. We would still follow the rules, but not at the cost of my sanity, there would be exceptions added to every rule. I would be allowed one dose of sleep-inducing medication per week. I could have one cup of de-caffeinated coffee per day, but only if it was early in the morning and I could watch TV if it would grant me a few moments of peace. And so every now and then Dad would rent some old movies and they would cuddle up with me on the couch and watch as many as it took for me to drift off for a little while. “It is? What time?” I asked. “At ten.” “Thanks, Mom. I haven’t seen it in a while.” “I thought you’d enjoy seeing it again. So, I hear you’re painting your bedroom again.” And there it was. Dana was not just my best friend, she was considered family, and my family kept tabs on me better than any military surveillance team ever could. “Yep! The spare room, but I’m just about done now. It looks nice. I’ll send you a picture.” I promised. “I love you, honey.” She said simply. “I love you too –“ my eyes were prickly now and I cleared my throat, “- I have to go, mom.” I lied, I didn’t want her to hear the emotion in my voice. Yes, I missed them all so much. “Okay. You take care…and send me that photo.” “I will. Give my love to dad.” We said goodbye and hung up. To my family I was like a ticking time bomb. They were always watchful, waiting for that single moment when I’d reach my limit and simply fade into nothingness. In those moments they sprung into action and barred their teeth at anyone who would dare disturb my infinitesimal glimpse at peace. Sadly, those moments had stolen many happy memories from me. Like my twenty first birthday party – I spent it asleep in the hammock that hung on the porch of my parents’ house. At Natalie’s wedding I slept through most of the ceremony and at her and Jake’s engagement party the year before that I didn’t even make it out of the car. Yes, my family had put up with a lot from me over the years. It was impossible to not applaud them for their efforts and perseverance.   Still, letting me go had not been easy for them, but I was determined to live as normal a life as I could. And so, after I graduated Cascade High School, I attended Julliard in New York City. It was impossible to not fall in love with the city and after I graduated I moved around the city a couple of times before finally settling in an apartment in Willow Street, Brooklyn Heights. *** I jerked awake. My eyes darted around the dark room in confusion and found…nothing. Everything was quiet, except for the TV, which was still blaring on in low tones. I focused on the screen. Images of what must be an old black and white movie filled the screen. My gaze found the digital clock on the stereo – 00h46. I groaned and rubbed my eyes before repositioning myself on the couch. The empty pizza box lay discarded on the coffee table. Mentally I calculated. There were five more hours before I had to start getting ready for work. Five hours: That meant three hundred minutes, or eighteen thousand seconds. And so started another night of pointless activities: I read a book and played around on my very expensive Korg digital piano – it had been a birthday gift from Natalie and Jake. I made myself some waffles, only to find that that the tub of ice-cream I thought to be in the freezer was MIA. I vaguely remembered Lucy, another friend of mine, sobbingly digging into the freezer a couple of days ago when her boyfriend had dumped her, and I shook my head. Waffles…oh, who needs waffles? I had chocolate chip cookies instead. At 03h30 I decided to give myself the benefit of the doubt and sprawled out on my very comfortable King-size bed. With my eyes shut I tried to focus on my breathing and I laid there for a long time, trying to shut down my over-active brain. In the end it was useless, as it was most nights. I finally got up, retrieved my laptop from my desk in my study and lazily made my way downstairs again. At 05h15 my alarm went off and I glanced at it in relief. How wonderful it had to be moan and groan at the sound of an alarm like a normal person. But it never woke me from a peaceful slumber to which I could easily return. I always eagerly looked forward to the beeping tones. It signaled a new day, filled with things to do and I preferred that to being idle. I closed my laptop and rose to my feet. Dizziness distorted my vision but passed quickly and I made my way to my bathroom to take a shower. The steaming water always managed to wake me up a little. I finished getting ready at a leisurely pace. I had become quite good at ‘killing time’. At 7h00 I eagerly left the apartment. The fresh morning air filled me with hope and anticipation. The twenty minute bus ride into New York went by in a blur and before I knew it I was standing in my classroom. Nineteen students were staring at me wide-eyed and I nodded again. “That’s right; there will be a test at the end of the semester. Each one of you will perform one number, for which you will be graded.” I explained and some of them gasped again. “But we’re eight.” A little boy informed me from the third row and I smiled at him. “That, you are, Tommy, and that is why I will not expect you to perform Beethoven 6th Symphony.” “What is Beethoven?” A little girl asked me from the back row. “Annie! You don’t know anything! Beethoven is a dog!” Tommy exclaimed all-knowingly. “I do too!” Annie shouted back. “No…Stop…please…stop.” I was laughing and they looked at me baffled. “I’m sorry…oh! Sweetie, Beethoven was a composer.” I explained. “What is a composer?” Someone asked. “Well, that is what you call someone who writes music.” They were all looking at me intrigued. “Like you, Miss Watson?” Tommy asked and I nodded slowly. “Yes, but Beethoven was a lot better at writing songs than I am.” “Was he a teacher too?” When I first started teaching music at the Dalton School, my parents felt that I was squandering my degree in music. They couldn’t understand why I would want to spend my time with students who didn’t even know the difference between a cello and a violin. But this was the reason. They listened, they cared and they were eager to learn. What I saw on their faces was pure, innocent curiosity, and I lived for it. It was invigorating, like a d**g pulsing through my veins – energizing and blissful. “No, he just wrote music on the piano and he used to put a stick in his mouth…see, he was deaf and…” And so started a long debate over how a deaf man managed to compose countless famous master pieces. The older kids held another sort of appeal. With them I could stimulate my intellectual needs and use my musical skills to stimulate theirs. I could speak about ‘staccato’ and ‘legato’ without them looking at me blankly and I could fly through a piano piece and have them tell me where the key changes took place. It was exhilarating in its own way. The only problem with my natural ‘caffeine fix’ was that when I walked out those gates at the end of the day it didn’t take long for a system crash to occur. Usually I hurried for home, but today I had to stop by the grocery store to pick up a few necessities. The store was mercifully quiet. I didn’t mind people, but my eyes were blurring again and my insides shivered slightly. It took all my energy to just stay on my feet and it took a lot of effort to ‘act’ like I was okay. I literally hung on to the shelf as I moved along it, angry with myself for not taking a trolley at the entrance. At least then I would have something to lean on. As I shuffled down the aisle my eye caught someone looking at me and my blood ran cold. It was a man, and I quickly let my gaze fall to the floor. I couldn’t handle that today. Dana once insinuated that I was afraid of men, but that was not the case. I was just realistic. Nobody wanted someone who was tired all the time. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried dating before. Dana and I had left Clayton together, I to attend Julliard and she had gotten into NYU. Dad had rented us an apartment, insisting that if I wanted to move to the city I would not do so alone. When we had first arrived she had set me up on countless blind dates and I had allowed it, but my near-constant lethargic state discouraged my dates quickly and after a while she gave up on the idea that I would ever date like a normal girl. I ducked into another aisle and moved along it as quick as I could with my head down. A few moments passed before I hesitantly rounded the corner to the next aisle – the aisle I needed to be in. It was empty and I almost ran to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of milk and a tub of ice-cream from the freezer next to it. I reached the checkout counter. “Hey!” It was a cheerful voice and my head jerked up. It was the gawking stranger. “Hi.” I mumbled hesitantly and he smiled at me brightly. I glanced behind me and then frowned at him. “You’re that freaky girl that passed out next to the pool at the Jenson party a few years ago, aren’t you?” He asked and the blood drained from my face. “I think you have me mistaken with someone else.” “No! No…it is you. I never forget a face. You simply sagged to the ground and then that other girl went around screaming at everyone to step back and to leave you alone. It was very strange. You must really have been wasted…” He was blabbering on I was getting more and more uncomfortable. Images of that night were flittering back, not many images, but enough for me to remember that it was a disastrous evening. I dug into my jean pocket, retrieved a few dollar bills and threw it onto the counter. The cashier took it without a word, I decided that he was very good at being invisible and wished I had that gift. He packaged my purchased goods and handed me the brown paper bag and change. “Thank you, Jeffrey. See you next week.” I greeted and turned to leave. “Hey! Wait up! C’mon!” The stranger exclaimed and his hand shot out to stop me. I swung around and my hand held the can of pepper spray only inches from his face. “Back off, mister. I told you. You’re mistaken.” I ground out and he took a step back with his hands up in surrender. Yes, I was just a typical 25-year old New Yorker. “Okay…sorry about that.” He was frowning…in the way you would when face to face with a psychopath and I winced. “Please, Miss Watson, just go.” Jeffrey squeaked from behind the counter and I glanced at him, lowered my hand and nodded. Without another word I spun on my heel and left. It was probably true. In a way, I was a little unstable – mentally. But when you were stuck in your own company for so many hours a day with only short interruptions and breaks, it was impossible to not have a few screws loose. I would never be normal. I would never live the white-picket fence life that every girl dreams about. I was trapped in this life and it was best to just accept it.