Waking up in a cold sweat on the living room floor, wondering how I got there, is a common occurrence for me. As you can imagine, it’s not a very enjoyable experience, but to this day, I am still answering my mother’s countless questions to prove my mind is fully awake when I saunter down the stairs to grab a glass of water. Unfortunately, she has an everlasting arsenal of easy history questions that I must answer to soothe the nervousness that engulfs her when the sound of my feet hitting the floor resonates down the stairs. Even in her seemingly heavy sleep, she bolts up and in seconds is running to the stairs to assure my safety. Her fear isn’t irrational, and that is where my own fear is rooted.

Most mothers have no reason to be afraid of their fifteen year old daughter falling down the stairs, but most mothers do not have a daughter who runs in her sleep. Fortunately, my mother had knowledge of my sleepwalking before it became what it is now, a dangerous nuisance. It all started around the age of six or seven, but back then it was different, I simply woke up and wandered down stairs, slowly making my way one step at a time. At that age, it was calm and quiet: no running, yelling, or hitting. It wasn’t until I was ten and starting the fifth grade that it turned into a whole different kind of problem. I was suddenly waking up and being so terrified that I was shaking. It wasn’t till the stairs incident that my doctor became concerned. I had fallen down my stairs and it left me with large bruises on my back and hips. That’s when I was tested for epilepsy. I was hospitalized for five days to be sure I wasn’t an epileptic, and I wasn’t. Instead, I was diagnosed with multiple parasomnias.

When it comes to treatment, there are two sides to solving my dilemma; medication or a lifestyle change. Currently, I am not medicated, but I have been in the past. For almost a year before bed, I took melatonin, a substance that is naturally occurring in your brain that makes you sleepy. This did solve my problem, but only for about six months. Then, my issue came back and was just as frustrating as before. I have tried changing every aspect of my life, from reducing my screen time and coffee intake to changing the light in my bedroom and what I wear to bed. No matter what I do, nothing seems to work. While medication hasn’t been brought up since I took melatonin, there are prescription drugs that I could take to intervene with my issue. Diazepam, Alprazolam, and Clonazepam are all benzodiazepines, drugs that suppress REM sleep and limit arousal. Unfortunately, all of these drugs have some unwanted side effects and you can’t simply stop taking them as you please.

Sleepwalking is dangerous alone, but since it is most common in children and they usually grow out of it, parents typically don’t have to deal with the issue for a long time. Unfortunately, in my case, I did not grow out of it as a child and have developed multiple sleep disorders, or parasomnias. I happen to have four issues to deal with at night. Acting out my dreams is one and the most dangerous. Two, I have hallucinations during my sleep, which can affect all of my senses. Three, I have vivid dreams that make me believe that they are quite real. Four, my quality of sleep is less than poor and leaves me exhausted. I have become a hazard to myself and whoever attempts to wake me from my sleep state; fortunately for those around me, I am fairly small.

One of my most memorable sleepwalking episodes was one of the most frightening. I had been sleeping on the couch in my father’s living room and I awoke to the noise of my brother. He has always been a noisy sleeper, grinding his teeth and fidgeting, trying to get comfortable. My consciousness faded and became blurry until I heard yelling. My brother was no longer at my feet and my stomach dropped. Something had told me there was an intruder in the house. I cautiously got to my feet, trying to make absolutely no noise. The shaking of my hands made me fumble with the lock more than it should have. I already knew what to do. My grandparents lived next door and I could just run through the yard. I ran through the mud room and onto the porch before I could started to think of what to do next.

It wasn’t until my barefeet hit the cold gravel that I realized it wasn’t real. I sat down to think about what was going on. My feet were cold and my breath billowed out of my mouth. It was the beginning of November and the first frost had come. The clouds in my head had subsided and reality was setting in. I knew Zane didn’t sleep on the couch that night: he had decided to sleep upstairs. No one was down stairs, and if there was an intruder, the locks wouldn’t have been set. It was like the dam let all the water through, it was so overwhelming.

By the time I made it back to my father’s house, tears had made their way down my cheeks. I had so many feelings bouncing around my head it almost made me sick. I was embarrassed because I was fifteen and still made a fool of myself without being conscious. I was frustrated because I couldn’t stop myself from leaving the house, and lastly. I was scared that I would hurt myself or others.

I lead two separate lives, and one of them, I can’t control. My other life is a burden that I can’t cut loose. It is a part of me that scares me more so than anything else. I go to bed every night hoping to God that I wake up safe, because I don’t always have that luxury. My safety at night isn’t a given, not because of someone else invading my home, but because of myself. What is ironic about this is that I am my worst nightmare.