A Love Letter to My Bed

Thank you for supporting me. Truly, you do. I spend most of my time swaddled beneath your sheets. My bones press into my mattress, and my mattress holds me up.

I was reminded of how much I missed you

When my moving trailer was stolen, all I could think about was you. The bed frame I could do without. But no mattress? No island to rest my sinking ship?

Sleeping on the floor reminded me of how much I missed you. Those nights were painful. My bones poked through my skin, pinching me at every point my body touched the floor. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I experienced that firsthand when I lost you.

You're always there for me

Sinking into a new mattress weeks later, I felt myself come alive again. You offer a place for me to relieve my burdens. I can sink into your depths, and emerge renewed (to a point).

Narcolepsy still keeps me half awake and half asleep. Though every night I sail upon a voyage of dreams, I know that no matter how far I go, I’ll wake up in your embrace.

You’re always there for me – through the good times and the bad.

You hold me up, you let me rest

Some days I can’t force my heavy limbs to escape your grasp. You cling to me in these moments as much as I cling to you.

On these days my brain recycles old fodder for viewing. My dream space is pale, malnourished. Yet you’re my safe place in a world of uncertainty. You hold me up. You let me rest.

On the days that I give in to my body’s pleas for rest, I often wrestle with my consciousness. “I should be getting something done,” I tell myself. You cry out, “Please stay!” And I oblige.

Other days I am a bird and you are my nest. I nuzzle your warmth, then depart. I always return, whether it’s for my scheduled naps or my nightly rest. Every time I come back, there you are – waiting for me.

I find it difficult to trust other people now

When my narcolepsy onset began at age 20, I lost a great many people. They just couldn’t wrap their heads around my new limitations. They doubted my abilities. They marked my failure to perform in the professional world as being within my control. What do I control, exactly, if I can’t manage to keep my eyes open? If I can’t stay standing while having a laugh?

I find it difficult to trust other people now. I fear their opinions on my disease. Sometimes, I fear my own opinions on my disease.

Thank you for always lifting me up

Narcolepsy type 1.

It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?

When my narcolepsy bell rings, I know it’s time to return to you, my bed. When the urge to sleep becomes too strong to fight, I can descend into your depths. I can wrap myself tight enough to squeeze the angst out. I can lose myself and know that you will find me in the morning exactly where you left me.

Thank you for always lifting me up.

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