Mental Health | Insomnia | Rant

Mental Fatigue and the Threat of Burnout

In other words, insomnia is kicking my ass.

Reaching over my head for the bookshelf to my right, I search around in the dark until I find my phone. The time reads as four in the morning.

It’s the second day in a row that I can’t sleep. My mind isn’t really racing. I don’t feel anxious or bothered, nor am I haunted by troubled thoughts. And yet I’m drifting hazily in and out of a low-grade doze, partially conscious all night.

This happens every now and then. I’ve had it run on for a solid five days before, not a wink of sleep. After a few days, the hallucinations start, and I never look forward to those. Aimlessly ambling from one room in the house to the next, convinced someone is calling for me when there’s nobody else around…I don’t enjoy the tricks my mind plays.

By the time morning rolls around, I know I won’t be falling back asleep. So, I pick up the phone again to check my messages, and my emails, not wanting to leave the comfort of my blankets just yet. By eight I’m up and collecting my well-used mug to wash it out and make a cup of coffee.

The caffeine doesn’t do much to wake me up at this point, but it’s warm and comforting and I enjoy the taste.

Insomnia has been a constant struggle for me for most of my life.

I’ve spoken to doctors about it. My family doctor has a habit of disregarding issues, so he was quick to tell me I don’t actually wake up in the night. According to him, we’re all so stressed out about missing work or being late that we’re just dreaming about not being able to sleep.

At the time I spoke to him, I was unemployed and out of school. I had nothing to wake up for. He didn’t care. He hadn’t even seen it for himself- he was basing this off of my statement, sitting in his office, exhausted beyond belief.

The next doctor I spoke to told me that, while he could send me to a sleep clinic if I really wanted him to, there would be nothing anybody could do unless I wanted sleeping pills. I know they’re addicting. I didn’t want them.

Just about every health professional I’ve spoken to has agreed with his assessment. They recommend sticking to a strict schedule. I’ve tried that. They tell me to cover all light sources in my room. I do. They tell me to try white noise. Way ahead of them.

Melatonin? Triggers sleep paralysis for me. Warm milk? Tastes good, and does nothing else. Cut back on caffeine? I’ve quit it completely for months at a time. No good.

And it’s doubtful anything will ever really help, to be honest. I can say that because I know exactly what the cause of my insomnia is: Autism.

A lot of people are surprised when I tell them that, but it’s true. Autism and sleep disorders go hand in hand. They’re thick as thieves. It’s a pain in the ass.

See, autistic people, both kids and adults, can be two to three times more likely to experience sleep disturbance than neurotypical folks. It’s a well-studied phenomenon, and it’s virtually taken for granted that if you’re diagnosed with ASD, you’re probably not sleeping well.

So, that’s where I’m at. And unfortunately, as far as fixing it, I’m shit out of luck.

It’s not uncommon for me to lose a couple of nights a week when it comes to sleep. Some months I get lucky and sleep like a log, and then in other months I get sucker-punched by brain fog and lethargy.

Sleep deprivation is a huge deal. I know society kind of cracks jokes at it, the tired guy in the commercial pouring coffee and missing his mug while he yawns, so on and so forth.

For me, it might look more like putting a glass on a stovetop burner, or standing blankly in a room having forgotten how I got there. Did you know sleep deprivation can cause symptoms of psychosis? I do. It’s really fun.

I love hearing whispers in other rooms of the house, thinking someone is calling me over. I love seeing movement out of the corner of my eye or feeling something crawling on my arm when nothing’s there. Can you hear the sarcasm yet?

There are other issues, too. How about trouble healing from injuries? Immune system dysfunction? Higher stress, increased risk of heart disease? Yeah- all you people pulling all-nighters, cut it out. It’ll mess you up in the long run, believe me. Get some sleep.

I’m writing this in a foggy state this morning, and I probably sound about as bitter as a dark roast with no cream, but that’s my issue. I’m goddamned tired.

The world doesn’t stop when I can’t sleep, nor should it. So I’m up, and I’m working, and I’m doing my best to be productive. All I want to do is curl up under the covers and shut out the world today, but I showed up. I’m writing.

And oddly enough, it actually helps. I enjoy it, and it helps reduce the stress and pain of getting up to face another day in the mental darkness of exhaustion.

Sitting down to write helps shake me out of it. I don’t have the energy to put out a fully researched and cited post today, though I have one in my drafts that needs finishing. But I do have the energy to vent.

Sharing the reality of how it feels to live in the world with my brain is oddly therapeutic. And maybe somebody reading this will learn something new, too.

Maybe someone else dealing with this struggle can read this and feel less alone, and know it isn’t a ‘them’ problem. In this particular boat, we really are all in it together. Unfortunately, we don’t have any paddles and the damn thing feels like it’s sinking.

Still, it helps keep the threat of burning out at bay. I’ve hit that wall before, the overwhelm and the dread at the thought of going out. The frank refusal of my anxiety to let me do the things I need to do to live. I don’t want to go back to that.

I’ve learned to give myself grace when I need it and to recognize my limits. I’m not there yet, not right now. But on days when I struggle to sleep, when my energy is sapped and bleeding out before my eyes, it gets closer. It gets harder.

For right now I’m okay, and I can muddle through today in the haze without keeling over on my feet. I’ve got my coffee and my comfortable cardigan. I’ve got my glasses on, albeit crooked, and my music rocking out in the background.

Mental fatigue is a consequence of living with my brain, but it’s the only brain I’ve got, and damn it, I’m going to make it work.

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