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Anything dead coming back to life hurts5/29/2023 After she had fallen asleep and I was still wide-awake ready for the sun to sprout in a bit, I felt the Lord drop this poem in my spirit based on Psalm 23.Īnd allows my joy to overflow in abundanceĪfter I received those words, I felt lighter. I was on the floor in the room of one of my housemates who had struggled with insomnia one summer and told me I could stay in her room, so I wouldn’t feel as lonely, while she played worship instrumental music to see if that would help me sleep better. The night before my biggest final that semester, I began hearing strongly from God. With my frustration towards myself and God mounting, I resolved to accept the fact that insomnia had woven it’s way into my life and I’d just have to make room for it on my bed most nights. I visited CAPs, looked up organic remedies to insomnia, sought prayer from my housemates, bought religious self-help books for sleeping disorders, and had my sister stay on the phone with me some nights in hopes that it would help me sleep better. I felt like a walking silhouette of who I knew I was.ĭesperately wanting to improve my compromised mental health and not wanting to turn to my parents for help (who come from a culture that struggles with legitimizing mental health issues), I began trying to think of ways to fix myself. Many activities that I used to enjoy became lackluster and I dreaded having things to do that would require a lot of energy/thinking. ![]() Insomnia descended me into a pit of loneliness, fashioned by anxiety and I was so unaware of how to plow myself out of it. Lying in bed exhausted in the middle of the night, feeling betrayed by and unfamiliar to your own body is one of the worst feelings I have come to know in my life. However, even with my efforts to apply better sleep hygiene to my life, I continued struggling with anxiety and insomnia multiple times a week. I viewed that night of not sleeping as a fluke that would certainly not happen again because I’d be more diligent in making sure I got to bed earlier at a consistent time each night. It was comforting hearing her voice and being reminded that my heart and thoughts were not the only sounds that sloshed the earth. I called my mom, who works night shifts as a nurse, and she tried to calm me down for a few minutes. By 2:30 a.m., I figured I should probably try to talk to someone to see if that would get my mind off of things. My mind continued strumming through concepts I didn’t understand and my heart felt squeamish in my chest. The only problem was that after I did get in bed, I couldn’t sleep. ![]() Once I realized that information was no longer sticking in my head, I decided to go to bed. The night before my first exam rolled around and I remember reviewing notes in my room, trying to elucidate concepts that were still blurry to me. School had always been something I felt completely in control of and believed I could excel at with the right efforts, so I didn’t worry too much about my rigorous course load. ![]() However, I thought that my struggles were just going to be something I overcame by working hard and being strategic with the time I spent studying. Merely a few weeks into my fall semester as a third year, I quickly noticed how difficult it was for me to stay on top of my workload. (Slight digression: I wasn’t sure if I should write this blog post about how college has further solidified my identity as a Nigerian-American woman, but I often need to my remind myself that being black is only one story that streaks my life and that God has given me many other stories that deserve attention too.) The quote is “Anything dead coming back to life hurts”. If I’ve realized anything about being at UVa the past four years, it’s that one of my favorite quotes from Toni Morrison’s Beloved holds true.
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