For some of you it's a temporary ordeal.
For others, like myself, it's a chronic condition, with intermittent periods when the disorder goes into remission.
My struggle began at age 11, when I entered puberty.
Of course, there are myriad experts with useful advice. Here is Joanna Waloszek's.
I received much of that guidance in fall 2016. I had just relocated to eastern Ohio. I couldn't sleep.
Since this is OpioidVille, the medical doctor wouldn't write out a script for sleeping pills. Instead she dished out the usual recommendations. You are likely getting the same sensible advice, even in supposedly hip locations like Los Angeles.
The insomnia continued. I had to resort to emergency measures. For me that means cooking up a plan to outfox the manic forces preventing the ZZZZZZs.
What was effective was fooling The Whatevers that it wasn't night. I would get fully dressed in my daytime writing outfit, then jump into bed. You got it, I fell right to sleep. I had tricked 'em into assuming I might have been intending a brief nap.
Recently, after a client attempted to stiff me, I ran into another bout of insomnia. New tricks were called for.
I bought a large piece of foam rubber and threw it down on the floor of the walk-in pantry. Then I plopped on it. Fell right to sleep. That's a good thing. It took the collection agency AccountsReceivable.com a bit of time to get the rascal to pay up.
Takeaway: When it comes to serious health challenges, we might have to be open to experimentation. Too much of medicine operates outside the realm of mysticism.
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