When we were children, we were given a strict bedtime.

A definite cut off from TV, games and even books.

I remember hating going to bed as a child, hating that many times, my sister got to stay up a little later because she was older, and many times vocalizing in my high-pitched voice that it was, “SO UNFAIR!”

But by the time I brushed my teeth and said my prayers, I remember floating off to my dreams, and waking up bright and early the next morning.

It was just that simple.

I also remember the exact night it all changed.

That night was nothing of the peculiar or out of ordinary.

It was just another night.

I got tucked into my bed and stared at my pastel-colored fan, watching the blades spin around, and I remember how strange it felt not being able to fall asleep.

I was a prisoner of my mind at the young age of seven, and every night, have had trouble falling asleep since.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am famously known for being able to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere.

I can curl up on the tiniest chair, the hardest floor, the bumpiest car ride and drift off.

But those are spontaneous naps, coincidentally when my body is screaming to shut down for a few minutes because my body is exhausted from my uncontrollable anxiety.

But it is in the quiet nights.

The sleeping alone.

The times I know I need to go to bed at a certain time for me to wake up the next morning without wanting cry.

These are the hard nights for me.

During these ungodly hours.

What is it about the stillness that makes our minds wander?

We have all day to think about these random thoughts and ideas, but somehow they only appear on our minds seconds before drifting off.

What is it about the quiet dark rooms that seem to be the loudest?

All I know is that bedtime is my least favorite time.

It reminds me that I am alone.

It reminds me of all the things I did wrong or could have done better, and on the worst nights, I relive the most embarrassing and tragic moments of my teenage existence.

It calls to mind all the things I haven’t done yet and all the things I will probably never get to do if I keep going the way I am going.

Bedtime is the time I wish someone was here with me.

Because all through the day I am, what I would like to believe, a progressive independent woman, full-fledged Towanda, hear me ROAR, kind of gal.

But it is in these hours, when I am up at night thinking of all the worst case scenarios that could ever happen, that I wish someone was here to fill the forever-alone void that somehow I cannot seem to fill.

Or when I finally fall asleep, but wake up at three AM, and I feel relieved because I get to sleep for longer, but then I realize that I have to go through this whole process of trying to fall asleep all over again, and I just need somebody to help me talk it out.

This is what I have been dealing with.

But in all honesty, it is not all that bad, because sometimes my greatest poems come from this sharp pang of loneliness I get almost every night. Some of my biggest dreams and aspirations comes from imagining a greater life for me, on the rare occasion I actually give myself and my life a bit more credit than usual.

I can’t help but appreciate those haunting and all-consuming moments, because they have inspired me to become what I am right now, and motivate me to try and be better everyday.

These moments are what help me get up in the morning after struggling through the long, scary night.

So maybe I am in a Catch-22, damned if I do, damned if I don’t type of situation, but I guess I will have to let each night come as it may.

If you are like me, someone who hates the lonesome darkness that comes with each passing hour, I hope you can find some consolation in knowing you are not entirely alone like you think you are.

And when you find yourself awake at an hour when it seems like the rest of the world is fast asleep, know that I am awake too, waiting for the sunshine once again.

Sweet dreams, Friend. Can’t wait to see you in the light.