Addiction Brings Unwelcome Feelings of Guilt to Students

No matter how hard I try to quit, I always relapse back to it, back to its reality-blurring grasp, back to the firm handshake with nonsense and hallucination it permits me each time I succumb to its power.

When I do briefly triumph over it, all I achieve is a Pyrrhic victory -- I'm reduced to incoherence. My friends approach me, cock one of their eyebrows heavenward, and ask, "What happened to you?"

Friends, this is the face of withdrawal! I remember being a kid, thinking it was so stupid and pointless and being shocked that my parents looked forward to it. I was young! I was vigorous! I didn't need it as a crutch!

I am addicted. I am addicted to sleep.

And I really love it too -- melting away into oblivion each night between my cool sheets only to re-emerge from a fog of absurdist dreams the next morning in the warm cocoon of my comforter.

However, on Wall Street, in the political halls of power and among certain circles on this campus; sleep is enemy No. 1. People treat sleep like it's an addiction -- a chronic condition that we would all rather do without.

People even use sleep, or their lack thereof, as a tool to assert their superiority over others. A few summers ago I lived with a friend who repeatedly boasted about his strategy for success in life. He told me, "I'm slowly weaning myself off of sleep. I'm down to four hours a night on a regular basis! That's the secret: All the big names, all the powers, none of them slept."

A few days later, he abruptly ended my nap on our futon with a shattering, proud yelp: "Churchill! Not a wink!"

Since coming to Chapel Hill, I've regrettably internalized all of this negative baggage. My moral compass has blacklisted sleep, placing it alongside theft, murder, lechery, corporate fraud, 20-minute showers and other horrible crimes. Each night, before I let my ego dissolve in slumber, I find myself engaging my conscience in an internal dialogue the gist of which follows:

"What have you to confess, my son?"

"Father, I have committed the sin of sloth."

"How so, my son?"

"Last night I slept for seven hours straight."

"How many papers have you due, my son?"

"Four, father, in the next week. And a column about sleep as well."

"You then have committed a grave sin indeed. A sin against your University, your professors and your overall worth as a person. I assign you four consecutive all-nighters as penance."

"Father, may I whine about my lack of sleep and abundance of work to my friends?"

"Yes, of course you may. It's so hard being your conscience; I'm so overworked. If you had any idea the number of meetings I have to attend."

"Thank you, father. Don't get me started about meetings ..."

This isn't too much of an exaggeration of the trap that some of us fall into this time of year, as the weight of midterms crushes down upon us.

While there's nothing wrong with fretting over our addiction to sleep because of a lust for life, oftentimes it's our addiction to achievement that pushes us to these ends. We become like medieval monks, using our ability to achieve self-denial as a means of proving our worth as a person.

Is life worth living if we can't stay awake to enjoy it? I'm not advocating laziness. I'm simply advocating balance. And seeing friends in classes drool on their notes and roll their eyes into the backs of their heads convinces me we haven't struck it yet. It's time for each and everyone of us to stand up and proudly admit what's true:

"I am addicted. I am addicted to sleep."

Jim Doggett can be reached at jdoggett@email.unc.edu.