Talking in my Sleep

I had a friend sleep over Saturday night. And he hilariously talked in his sleep. Like, non-stop, all night. He suffers from insomnia, as do I. And he talks in his sleep, as do I. But, unlike him, I also sleep walk. In fact, I can interact with my environment to a disturbing degree in my sleep.

Check out that creepstache.

I have some theories about insomnia, sleepwalking, and sleep talking. I’m not here to debate the science or research behind any of that. I know that for me, the less I sleep, the more I sleep walk, sleep talk, and have symptoms of OCD and depression when I’m awake.

 

With all that said; this is the totally true story that I have absolutely no memory of.

 

My sister J and I shared a room growing up. We shared a bed for several years, and even a pillow when we were very young. When I was 10, we had bunk beds.

Ours looked like this. No rail to keep you from falling off and they were made out of splintery wood. Like old pallet wood.

I got the top bunk both because I was older and already a giant freak, and because J would fall off the top bunk every time she slept there. She even re-fractured her arm once.

 

I’m getting a little off topic, but we also used the call the space between the bed and the wall “the creek.” It always cracked us up when she would slip down into the creek and she would call out to me “Help! I’m stuck in the creek!” And I would be helpless with laughter watching her struggle to get free.

 

Anyway, I rarely slept growing up. I couldn’t fall asleep, I couldn’t stay asleep, and once I was awake, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I am still this way to a lesser degree.

 

There were nights where I did not sleep at all. On a good day, I would sleep for 4 hours or so. As a result, I had crazy bad sleep talking. I even used to sing sometimes.

 

One night, my brother T was at a friends house so it was just J and I upstairs. J says that at some point in the night I woke her up with a high pitched voice saying “J, turn on the light. There’s a monster outside.”

We didn’t have a nightlight. But there are some kick ass ones, like this adorable Tardis.

J turned on the light and there was naturally no monster. She looked up at me on the top bunk and I was fast asleep.

 

She turned out the light and went back to bed. A short time later, I woke her up again. “J, turn on the light. Please?” She says I said this in a bizarre sing songy voice.

 

She turned the light on again and looked in on me. She said this time I had a creepy smile on my face. In fact, I had creeped her out so much, she decided to go sleep in T’s room.

 

But after only a few minutes, I had gotten out of my bunk and followed her into T’s room. I was still completely asleep, just so you guys know.

 

I bent down to wake her up. “J, you forgot your pillow.” And I handed her the pillow off her bed.

 

She thanked me and told me to go back to bed. Which I did and she again fell asleep. She doesn’t have the same sleeping issues I have.

 

But after an hour or so I came in and woke her up talking about monsters. Then she says I stopped, turned to her, and exclaimed, “J! What’s in your ear?”

 

And that’s when J realized she DID feel something in her ear. She freaked out thinking I had placed something in her ear in my sleep (which is a valid fear and something weird I would probably totally do).

 

She ran down the stairs to our bathroom and peered into her ear canal. There was a roach. In her fucking ear. There are pictures of this on the internet, but I just cant look it up. Feel free though, readers.

 

If this was me I probably would have just curled into the fetal position on the floor of the bathroom and been found that way by one of my parents in the morning.

 

But J pulled the roach out with a pair of tweezers like a fucking superhero. Then she went back upstairs to check on me. She didn’t even wake me up because she knew I would never get back to sleep. And because she is the best sister ever.

 

She found me back in my bunk talking about owls and making my fingers dance? I am a little unclear on that part.

 

The next morning she told me this story and I did not believe one word of it. I mean, except that I do sleep walk. And sleep talk. And have nightmares about monsters all the time. And am scared of the dark.

 

It was getting pretty tough to deny. And then she showed me where I had put her pillow. In T’s room. So, I guess that whole thing happened. And is freaky as shit.


I guess the moral of this story is that you should never stay the night with me. Because what the hell?

Advertisements

11 thoughts on “Talking in my Sleep

  1. One of my friends had a girl break up with him over something he said in his sleep. She never would tell him what it was, but it must’ve hit a sore spot because she was absolutely fuming on her way out the door.

    She should’ve looked on the bright side; at least it wasn’t a roach in her ear.

  2. Must have been a baby roach, The ones I’ve seen down south are big enough to take on a mouse – and possibly win.

    Kinda weird that the most interesting parts of spending the night at your place might happen while you’re asleep.

  3. True enough, you didn’t claim that, I’m just sayin . . . and it IS unusual how well you interact with the conscious folks around you. Any of them not aware that you were out like a light?

    • At first they don’t know because I can be very lucid. But I’ll eventually say something weird and then they’ll notice my eyes are closed and I am obviously asleep.

  4. Roaches *shudders* — I get majorly creeped out by those things (and spiders). I don’t think I’ve ever talked or walked in my sleep – but my brother used to have a problem with it. When he was about 8 (and I was 17) I was downstairs talking to friends and suddenly we heard the sound of water hitting the tile floor in the foyer. When I went out to see what was going on, there was my brother on the landing of our curved, open staircase – peeing off the side. He was totally asleep and never woke up, even though we all started laughing hysterically.

  5. Pingback: Ambien Sleep | Cursitivity

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s