There are so many nights where I’m up at this ungodly hour.

I’ve never been a good sleeper. I’ll sometimes even try to go to bed at a decent hour, only to be tossing and turning a little bit later. Sometimes I can’t fall asleep, other times I can’t stay asleep. Only when I’m desperate do I resort to drugs, because they don’t seem to help. Or when they finally kick in, do they work too well.

Like many people, I just can’t shut my brain off.

I used to be productive when I was up late. I’d bake or cook for the days ahead. I’d clean, do laundry, scrapbook, go for a run or a walk, pay bills, organize things, anything to keep me busy or make me tired.

Side note: I read somewhere that the light from TV and computer screens can act as a stimulant, and can be as harmful to your sleep pattern as caffeine. Something to think about.

I just got out of bed again. I can lay there and pretend to sleep some of the time. But there are two things I just can’t do for fear of waking my husband. Both start “discussions”.  One involves a little imagination, the other is stifling a sob. Both cause just enough movement to jostle the bed.

I can’t cry like I used to. I’ve always been a crier. My family jokes that I cry at Hallmark commercials, and truth be told, I have. But I don’t let myself cry anymore. Probably for feat that once those tears start, they may never stop.

Throughout the entire phase of my diagnosis and treatment, I didn’t dwell in much self pity. I knew that there were people in much worse situations than the one I was in. I don’t know why now I’m more plagued with “why me’s” now than I was then. Why now am I so able to feel sorry for myself?

But here I am, at 4:30, with tears in my eyes. In fact the only reason I’m typing is that I have to focus on something to stop them from falling.

I feel trapped here at night. Where we used to live, I would go for a walk at this hour, to the bridge and sit and watch the water. Or I’d take the dog and we’d run until our feet gave out. Other times, I’d drive around to clear my head. I don’t do any of that here.

I can’t let myself cry in front of people. It’s fine to cry for someone else, or over something trivial, but to reveal the tears that plague me and the pain behind them? Almost impossible for me to do.

I could use some assistance, someone letting you cry, without questions. Someone to hold you or brush your hair back from your face while you let it all out. Get the sobs really going, you know the kind where your lips swell and your whole face seems wet with tears (and yeah, maybe a little snot)

But when you’re done, and you can finally take a deep breath again, you feel better. You’ve worked out your demons, you’ve had your cathartic moment and can see things a little clearer.

I need that.

I’ve tried crying a little tiny bit here and there, to see if it helps. A choked back sob in the shower, where the water hides your sniffles. Other times it sneaks up on me, and I’m walking through Target with my hand to my mouth.

Maybe when I’m home, I can hand my husband off to someone else and go off to cry for a while.

If I don’t, I fear I may drown in all these tears.