Stress is like an unexpected wave at the beach.  You know, you’re splashing along, enjoying the cool water and the bright, warm sun above, when an unexpected wave hits you just right.  A small one simply splashes you square in the face with some of that oh-so-salty water that may or may not end up in your nose, leaving your heart racing just a bit.  The bigger ones may go over your head, leaving you startled and spitting more of that salt water after the quick dunk.  And then there are the really big ones which push you down, swirling, leaving you disoriented and gasping for air, desperate to reach the top if only you could figure out which way is up.  And the tidal waves, well their path of destruction can wipe out everything that is familiar and safe with little effort, leaving behind an array of disaster to deal with (and more waves). 

I’ve been through many levels of stress, the small waves, when I was smacked in the face and startled, leaving my heart racing and my breath short.  I’ve been through bigger ones which left me with so much salt water in my throat that I’ve been sick for weeks on end.  And even the really huge stresses that seem to go on and on, leaving me searching for the light, for the sun, desperately gasping for air, and finally leaving me worn out and roughed up from the beating it dished out.  Thankfully, I haven’t had to deal with any full on tidal waves as of yet, but with the unpredictability of life (and the ocean), who knows…

Some people seem to deal with stress better.  The better swimmers, I suppose.  They seem to be able to dive under those waves, holding their breath in one smooth movement, and emerge on the other side a little wet, but otherwise unscathed.  I, on the other hand, have never mastered holding my breath, and must go through the motions of taking a deep breath and physically holding my nose before going under, something that those surprise (waves) stresses don’t allow for.  I always end up breathing/swallowing the water, leaving me with a sore throat, and I always end up with some form of sick when I’m under stress.   

Mr. W is like me.  A better swimmer, but apparently not a strong one as he generally ends up worn out and cranky in the wake of stress.  Unfortunately, his physical ailment takes the form of insomnia.  Of course, when you are worn out from swimming, or stressing, or whatever, sleep is what your body craves the most…and so begins the vicious cycle that plagues him (and by him, I now mean us).  I have had my own battle with insomnia going on for years.  I know his pain.  I have had nights when I quite literally got no sleep at all.  I have had days that I called in sick to work out of fear that the sleep would finally hit me during my commute.  I’ve had weeks where I felt like a zombie on a constant caffeine drop-off, as I wandered through my day, drinking as much coffee as my stomach would allow…and then one more for good measure.  So yes, I know his pain.  But I don’t suffer with him.  If he is next to me, I can sleep for days, no matter what is going on with my life.  Next to him is my safe haven, my peace, my bubble of tranquility.  Ok, maybe not that last one, as my stress is still on my mind, but I am able to put it away long enough to fall and stay asleep.  I don’t have that same healing effect on him, however.  If a wave of stress takes him, a wave of insomnia takes him and nothing can help him then, not even me. 

I woke up last night and he wasn’t there.  Yes, we are stressing.  About our own individual stuff.  About our joint stuff.  About our future and futures.  About lots.  I am sick, again.  I think it’s a nasal infection, but who knows.  I’ll fight through it as usual.  And he couldn’t sleep.  While the insomnia doesn’t take me when he’s there, it’s almost guaranteed it will when he’s not.  It’s infectious.  So I went to find him, out back, smoking…that’s normal.  I asked what was wrong.  Nothing.  That’s normal too.  I waited for him to get done, and pulled him back to bed with me.  He rolled away (normal) and I fell into a deep sleep.  This morning he couldn’t get up, not for the gym, not for the cup of coffee I left on his nightstand, not for a kiss goodbye, and not for the later alarm I set for him.  He’s not talking to me (normal) and I’m stressing about that now (normal, normal, normal). 

And the waves keep rolling in.

This entry was posted on Monday, April 13th, 2009 at 7:48 am and is filed under Mr. W, health, insomnia, stress, stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.