The cashier asked to see my ID. I handed it over like it was no big deal and waited stoically until it was scanned and returned.
But I think that was the moment that I realized I had a problem.
Years of trauma, stuffing emotions, self-isolation, poor coping…. They all had their part in bringing me to that moment of inward shame, of realizing.
Sleep had been elusive for years.
I learned about melatonin while dealing with chronic Lyme disease, and for a while, that was enough.
Then nursing school happened, and with it some of the worst bullying I’ve ever experienced. Insomnia got a lot worse. I started using 5-HTP (a precursor to serotonin and melatonin) and it helped.
But things got worse in the final semesters, as the stress ramped up and I desperately tried to outrun the constant threat of being kicked out. I began to realize that I could no longer sleep at all without some sort of sleep aid, but I ignored this realization.
I got a cold, and didn’t have time to rest it out, or to be sick. I started taking Nyquil. On top of all the other things I was already taking. And for the first time in a while, I could sleep again.
Then the bottle was empty. I convinced myself that I still had a wee bit of cold symptoms, and I went to the store for more.
The cashier asked for my ID.
In that moment, I realized that I was using a “substance of abuse”. To sleep. I knew, down deep, that I didn’t have a cold; I had a substance dependency issue.
That was half a decade ago, almost. A lot of Jesus and healing and counselling and lifestyle change later, the coronavirus pandemic hit. I lost my job. Loneliness and fear and uncertainty slammed in like a tidal wave. And I started to have trouble sleeping.
Once or twice, it got so bad that I considered taking melatonin, but I never actually did.
Because this time, it’s different.
This time, I know that I am not a victim. This time, I know that insomnia is simply a symptom of something wrong. This time, I have solid connections I can turn to. This time, I know Jesus. This time, I am secure.
This time, I use prayer, not melatonin. This time, I turn to friendship, not 5-HTP. This time, I never get to the point of considering Nyquil, even though I have a bottle. Somewhere. I think.
This is not to say that any of those things are wrong. I believe they all have their place. In fact, I keep melatonin on hand, to use as a way to break out if I get stuck in a persistent cycle of insomnia.
I am fully aware of the physical side of sleeplessness, and actively work on those factors. Things like getting vigorous exercise, eating enough of the right foods at the right time, taking care of noise pollution, and stress management are all part of my anti-insomnia plan.
But those are all things that I had head knowledge about before, and I somehow couldn’t make myself do what I knew. There’s a deeper change that makes it possible for me to actually do those things now.
On the final page of The Road Less Traveled, author and psychologist M. Scott Peck says, “because the act of [seeking help] with all that it involves is an act of courage, you have my admiration.”
I read that book shortly after the incident with the cashier, and that admiration, from a man whom I had never met (and indeed, profoundly disagree with in many ways), was the nudge I needed to enable me to actually seek help, with desperate and shuddering courage.
I have never been more glad that I decided to take that step.
And to all those who have taken, are taking, or will take, that step of seeking help, of being willing to be made truly whole…you have my great and enduring admiration. I’m proud of you.