I saw a funny thing about this insom-nom-nom-nia phenomenon today (when you just eat whenever you can’t sleep), and forwarded it to my sister for a good laugh. In texting back and forth with her, I had apparently never told her this story. And judging by her “Lmfaoooooo…X 2” reply, I thought others might get a kick out of it, too.
About 6 years ago, my now ex-husband and I had just separated, sold our house, and were in the midst of divorce proceedings. I had moved into an apartment, and sleep was not on the agenda. Not at all. I’ve always been a horrible sleeper, but with everything going on, it was getting ridiculous and i could barely function. That, and I was too busy smelling the ganja that came wafting down from the upstairs apartment and wishing I could be that young, stupid & carefree.
Anyway… my doctor put me on Ambien to help me sleep. I never took it when my girls were with me because I was afraid I wouldn’t wake if they needed me, because I mean this.shit.worked.
Stress usually gives me a very unsettled stomach and nothing — I mean NOTHING sounds good to eat. You may recall the “Peanuts & Coke” story with my mom. If you’re not familiar, it’s worth a read. I figured I could at least drop a few pounds since the rest of my life was going down the crapper. My very own silver lining.
So imagine my disgust when I actually GAINED a couple pounds. I couldn’t figure it out. I hardly ate, fidgeted like crazy, was sleeping well at least a few nights a week. I thought for sure I would’ve lost a pound or two.
I started finding orange residue in my bed — on my pillowcase, down in the sheets, etc. I never eat in bed and usually don’t let my kids do it, either, but I figured they must’ve gotten in there with food at some point.
When I started finding the kitchen cabinets open in the morning, food on the counter, crumbs everywhere, I thought I was losing it. I know I didn’t eat that crap and I couldn’t blame it on the kids, because #1. They couldn’t reach the stuff, and #2. They weren’t with me when it would happen. I couldn’t figure out what was happening, but I’m not ashamed to tell you that I seriously thought the potheads from upstairs were sneaking into my apartment and eating my shit while I slept because they ran out of food because they smoked too much pot and had insane munchies and didn’t buy food because all they bought was POT!!! Yes, I know that was a huge run-on sentence, and a bit on the paranoid side, but it could happen. It was a house turned into a duplex. And I may or may not have pushed a big table in front of the door where they could’ve gained access and used the back door from that point on.
It wasn’t until one morning when I woke up with the orange residue everywhere again — my fingers, my hair, my face — everywhere. Coupled with the realization that I had a mouthful of shit (not literally shit, just shit, as in, why am I waking up with food in my mouth?!?), all the cheesey pieces of the puzzle started coming together. And there was no denying the bag of Cheetos in my hands. But seriously, wtf? What was even happening? I had NO recollection of eating any of this, of getting out of bed, walking to my kitchen cabinets, retreating back to my bed, ready to apparently make love to the Cheetos. (Was it good for YOU, Chester? Because all I got was a big ass and orange stains everywhere.)
I had a follow-up appointment with my doctor a few days later and he informed me that yes — sleep WALKING, sleep DRIVING and sleep EATING were indeed possible, albeit rare side effects of Ambien. If it’s rare and unusual, I’m your girl. Uhh…yeah. Thanks, but no thanks there, doc. I’ll take insomnia for 200, Alex. I’ve got enough problems without adding “I consume my weight in Cheetos while I sleep.”
Needless to say, I stopped taking Ambien. They should change their slogan to “Ambien – you won’t give a shit about sleep anymore, because you’ll have bigger problems, fatty.”
This concludes today’s episode of “Tales of insom-nom-nom-nia.” Thank you and goodnight.