Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here
Our Sleep Patterns: Inborn or Adaptive?
I had read Dr. Michael Breus’s book The Power of When, some years back, hoping to see how it could help me sleep better and fix my insomnia-like symptoms.
After finishing the book, I went down an interesting rabbit hole, wondering whether or not something was wrong with me. Again.
I questioned if I was predetermined to be wired as a dolphin—half-awake, half-asleep like dolphins when swimming—or if I trained myself to be one. Always on alert, where any sound, even silence, is a threat.
What Can We Infer From Science and Experience?
I haven’t looked deeply into sleep science beyond reading The Power of When.
Though, I was curious to see if we’re capable of overwriting our sleep patterns with new ones.
I used to work night shifts before switching over to a day shift, though similar patterns emerged:
I’d stay up late into the night, struggle to wind down even with nothing on my mind, keep electronics away from me for an hour before sleep, then give up because I was forcing myself to do something my body and mind didn’t want to do.
I listened to my usual mode of being and made what looks like a struggle to sleep and stay awake work for me.
We’re built different, are different, and some general help helps 50% of the time more than not.
I still stand by the idea that we can train ourselves to adapt our sleep habits—whether our schedules change, we have an event or appointment to keep, or something new enters our lives and throws our routines out of whack.
For me, I’m always alert and aware of a lot of things: noises inside and outside of my studio, my Blink camera clicking because it thinks it’s tracking movement, my bed only a few feet away from the entrance.
Even the quiet is unsettling because I grew up with noise—my dad snoring from sleep apnea, my dogs barking like mad because someone was walking past the fence, neighbors blasting music, people revving cars at midnight, or someone screaming until EMT lights flash through my window without sirens.
Nothing new there.
However, my current schedule is far from ideal, and it’s going to be the thing that kills me, if I don’t do something about it, one of these days.
What I’m Doing Isn’t Sustainable
On the days where I’m working both of my jobs, I’m practically working—and awake—for nearly the whole day.
Like yesterday: I’d been awake since 6 a.m. at my first job and didn’t get home from my second until literally midnight, the next morning.
I just got home 30 minutes ago, showering to wash off the dirt, grime, and glass dust from the day before, and already, I haven’t had a chance to let myself—or even my car—breathe and decompress.
I’m constantly on all of the time.
My alarms go off between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m., and I’ll barely get a nap by the time I finish eating something, showering, and prepping what I need to grab and go.
I’ve been nodding off at the wheel driving home.
I’ll feel myself blink, and my body jolts awake—goes numb—because it knows I’m driving and need to stay conscious.
I’ve even gotten mad at myself for nodding off. The usual spiel:
“You FUCKING IDIOT!
STAY THE FUCK AWAKE!
I’M SO FUCKING TIRED!
THEY KEEP TAKING AND I’M GETTING NOTHING BACK—IT’S NOT FAIR!
YOU’RE ALMOST HOME! STAY AWAKE! STAY THE FUCK AWAKE!”
I can’t stand the smell of coffee and energy drinks. I refuse to use them to stay awake because my heart already has too much adrenaline pumping.
The extra caffeine might just give me a heart attack this time around.
A heart attack before 30, what an accomplishment I’ll get to experience if it came to that, huh?
I’ve already been feeling horrible pressure in my right temple, like someone is twisting a vise around my head.
My attention slips occasionally. My words slur like a drunk person’s—except I’m sober, just drunk on sleeplessness.
The amount of sleep debt I have is horrible, and soon, someone’s going to come collecting.
The price?
I’ll either crash my car, or I’ll crash into someone else. That’s my worst fear: that I’ll get into a preventable accident and kill someone in the process.
I’m increasing the likelihood of that happening with how terrible my sleep debt and hygiene are.
And that scares me.
What Have I Tried So Far?
The only things I’ve been doing to help me sleep are taking hot Epsom salt baths and listening to fire crackle on my alarm clock—to keep my mind from focusing on everything outside me.
The white noise feels both threatening and soothing.
If I can’t hear something opening the door, I’m screwed.
I live alone, so I better be fast enough to grab the stick within arm’s reach to fight back.
But this is only doable on my days off.
I’m struggling to find better solutions for the days I’m working both jobs.
I return to my studio carrying the dirt and grime of the previous day, my legs numb from standing, struggling to hold my own weight.
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I so badly want to call out of work for a few hours of rest, but I don’t.
A lot of people have been let go for attendance and punctuality.
Using personal days, floating holidays, sick days, or vacation time feels like a punishment at my main job.
If I drop to a certain percentage, I’ll be next.
I hate that I can’t afford to be let go when my debts hang over my head like a guillotine blade.
A puff of air would be strong enough for it to fall, but it’s dull—so it keeps hacking away to get the job done.
I don’t know why I keep doing what I’m doing.
I know I’m extremely fucking tired, and my full-time job doesn’t reward loyalty.
I’m just trying to get out of this shit spot I put myself in: financial debt, mental debt, emotional and physical debt—just too much debt owed.
And I can see how close I am to being free.
The only thing I can say is: despite how extremely fucking tired I am, I’m still writing.
I’m still alive.
I’ll keep posting as much as I can while figuring out how to pay my sleep debt off.
If I ever stop, then the debt collector came.
Otherwise, it can piss off a little longer, and I’ll be here—half-awake, half-asleep, still flipping off whoever comes to collect, still writing.
Until then, I’ll keep swimming like a dolphin—half-awake, half-asleep, chasing freedom through the waves of fatigue.
Call to Action
This half-awake, half-asleep state is just one way I’ve adapted to survive, create, and stay aware in a world that never stops moving.
I’m curious — have you ever felt like a dolphin in your own life, navigating routines, compulsions, or habits just to keep going?
How do you cope when the world keeps turning while you’re barely resting?
If this piece resonated with you, feel free to like, share, or subscribe to follow the journey.
Your thoughts, reflections, and experiences are welcome here — they’re part of the Archive too.
Other Sleepless Reflections
- Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape
- The Archive Impulse: Why I Keep Writing Even When I Should Rest
- More Than Muscle: Living on the Edge of Sleep
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