Sleeping has been a constant struggle since before I hit my first decade.
Chronic Insomnia is what the doctors enjoyed pegging it as.
On an average of 3-4 months at a time.
For an average of 2-3 hours a night.
You function. You have no choice but to function.
You keep your insomnia problems to yourself, because everyone wants to give their opinion on how you aren’t trying hard enough to sleep.
I’m sick of the opinions at this point.
Eleven years later you learn to just take the wee hours you’re given and not complain.
Insomnia isn’t all that bad. I get my best writing done at those times.
However it is my loneliest of times. I always wondered if my husband would stay up with me when I wasn’t able to sleep.

Bucky stayed up with me twice when I wasn’t able to sleep. Two times in a year. He made tea and we watched a movie, and both times I was able to fall back asleep. — I’m not sure why I’m mentioning this little fact, I really haven’t thought about it until today. Strange.
I think the lack of sleep causes me to ramble. I scroll up, apparently I’ve been writing for the past 40 minutes, but when it’s this early in the morning, time usually doesn’t matter.

Not until the sun comes up.