Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep
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I have felt the urge to pray lately, stronger than I have for a long time, maybe even since I stopped praying altogether about six years ago.
It happens mostly when I go to bed. I turn off the light and settle in and sudden fear squeezes my insides. The kind of awful fear I imagine you feel when you are slipping off the roof of a tall building.
I am stressed. And anxious. Mostly about school. I’m sure that is a huge part of what I am feeling. The pressure I put on myself to get good grades and to impress (not at all the same thing) is enough to crush me all on its own.
It is more than that though. It’s a kind of self evaluation at the end of the day, in the dark. You are alone, and you are suddenly faced with how you spent your day. And how you are spending your life. And what it all means. And how you really don’t know.
It’s different when you share a bed with someone else. There is a certain comfort when there is someone beside you, true, but it is more than comfort. There is readjusting, fighting over blankets, noises, late night talking and fooling around, all stuff that distracts you from peering into the void of life. Even when you go without someone there for a night or two, even a week, it feels like a pleasant change of pace rather than an absence.
When it’s longer though, when you have to get used to the idea of going to bed alone, the fear becomes more pronounced because you aren’t used to it.
And I’m not used to it. At all.
I resisted praying for the first little bit. I don’t believe in prayer anymore, after all. Don’t know if I even believe in God. So I willed myself not to pray, even though I felt the urge to call out. I squirmed and shifted, trying to wriggle free from the panic, until finally I just went to sleep.
Last night I caved. I prayed for the first time in almost six years.
It wasn’t much of a verbal prayer. All I said in my mind was “God.” And then I just imagined the colours swirling around me, like I used to imagine, diluting the fear just enough to make it bearable, and making me feel a little less lonely.
In the light of day, I still feel the fear, still feel alone, just as I have for the last little while. And I certainly am no more certain about the existence of God than I was before last night. I believe the same things about prayer. In fact, I am tempted to believe last night was all just a construction of my imagination to help me deal with my anxiety.
I have no intentions of praying tonight.
But it will be as hard to resist as a second drink for an alcoholic who has just had his first drink in years.
I have felt the urge to pray lately, stronger than I have for a long time, maybe even since I stopped praying altogether about six years ago.
It happens mostly when I go to bed. I turn off the light and settle in and sudden fear squeezes my insides. The kind of awful fear I imagine you feel when you are slipping off the roof of a tall building.
I am stressed. And anxious. Mostly about school. I’m sure that is a huge part of what I am feeling. The pressure I put on myself to get good grades and to impress (not at all the same thing) is enough to crush me all on its own.
It is more than that though. It’s a kind of self evaluation at the end of the day, in the dark. You are alone, and you are suddenly faced with how you spent your day. And how you are spending your life. And what it all means. And how you really don’t know.
It’s different when you share a bed with someone else. There is a certain comfort when there is someone beside you, true, but it is more than comfort. There is readjusting, fighting over blankets, noises, late night talking and fooling around, all stuff that distracts you from peering into the void of life. Even when you go without someone there for a night or two, even a week, it feels like a pleasant change of pace rather than an absence.
When it’s longer though, when you have to get used to the idea of going to bed alone, the fear becomes more pronounced because you aren’t used to it.
And I’m not used to it. At all.
I resisted praying for the first little bit. I don’t believe in prayer anymore, after all. Don’t know if I even believe in God. So I willed myself not to pray, even though I felt the urge to call out. I squirmed and shifted, trying to wriggle free from the panic, until finally I just went to sleep.
Last night I caved. I prayed for the first time in almost six years.
It wasn’t much of a verbal prayer. All I said in my mind was “God.” And then I just imagined the colours swirling around me, like I used to imagine, diluting the fear just enough to make it bearable, and making me feel a little less lonely.
In the light of day, I still feel the fear, still feel alone, just as I have for the last little while. And I certainly am no more certain about the existence of God than I was before last night. I believe the same things about prayer. In fact, I am tempted to believe last night was all just a construction of my imagination to help me deal with my anxiety.
I have no intentions of praying tonight.
But it will be as hard to resist as a second drink for an alcoholic who has just had his first drink in years.
posted by deadwriter at 4:55 p.m.
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