It's often a friendly competition circulating around 9:45 classes: "I got about five hours, you?" "HAH! Three for me." We college students have a habit of joking about our horrific sleep routines. Either we're awake trudging from page to page of notes for an exam or speeding through the last two episodes of Stranger Things with our roommates. There are a plethora of situations that keep students awake seven days a week. But from this, a question arises: how many students are kept awake by nothing but their bodies alone? How many of my peers suffer from insomnia, like myself? How many minds are screaming when all is quiet? The insomniac's night is no two a.m. party. We drink coffee because it tastes nice. Our bedtime might as well be a six-sided die. An insomniac's "three hours" is no joke.

During my first semester of college, I gained the insomniac's perspective. Personal as well as school-related stressors had me laying in bed for hours wide awake. I soon discovered that my roommate had similar issues. There were nights when she'd be up, on the couch writing essays and I'd be in bed staring at walls. On these nights, when I couldn't find peace, I'd stare out my window looking out at the quiet. Sleep was something so many other people were experiencing, why couldn't I? Up until then, I'd never had any interaction with sleep deprivation. When my sleepless nights began, I learned how serious it truly is. Insomnia isn't being up at six a.m. to see the orange-red sunrise. Insomnia is burning pain behind my eyes every time I close them. Insomnia is anxiety all day, every day about the possibility of sleep each night. Insomnia is night terrors. Insomnia is frustrated tears. Insomnia is melatonin after melatonin after melatonin. Insomnia is loneliness. Insomnia is exhaustion at nine a.m., twelve p.m., 5 p.m., 11 p.m. but insomnia is never a moment to rest.

After months of experiencing painful night after painful night, I began to get back to sleep. I found the perfect dose of melatonin. I stopped using my phone late at night. I began to do yoga, run more, and eat better. However, this delicate balance was achieved after incredibly hard work. Each insomnia is different. My roommates's sleep works differently than mine. No matter the degree of disorder, an insomniac's perspective on the world is unique. During those months, I got to see the world in its most interesting state. My morning coffee came at 4:30 a.m., when nothing quite seems real yet. Often, I did get to see the sunrise. An insomniac's worldview is a strange one. One that sees the city when it finally does go to sleep.