Joel Lovell

I've been told that the insomnia I've struggled with on and off for most of my life comes from drinking too much caffeine, or eating too much sugar, or sleeping on a bed that's too soft, or too hard, or too flat. That I don't exercise enough, or that I exercise too much, or that I exercise the right amount but at the wrong time of day.

I've been told that the insomnia I've struggled with on and off for most of my life comes from drinking too much caffeine, or eating too much sugar, or sleeping on a bed that's too soft, or too hard, or too flat. That I don't exercise enough, or that I exercise too much, or that I exercise the right amount but at the wrong time of day.

Or that it's the result of watching TV or using a computer right before I go to bed. That wasn't that when everyone pokes around on the computer or watches TV. I've also been told that I should have more sex, which was good to hear, but then I was told I should have less. What my insomnia is really about is being afraid.

Or that it's the result of watching TV or using a computer right before I go to bed. That wasn't that when everyone pokes around on the computer or watches TV. I've also been told that I should have more sex, which was good to hear, but then I was told I should have less. What my insomnia is really about is being afraid.

I don't mean being afraid of something happening to my daughters or to my wife or to my job or whatever other adult fears. I mean it's about being afraid when I was a kid, specifically when I was 11 years old, the year I trained myself not to sleep. It wasn't that hard. I had all the normal childhood fears to draw on. Pops Ferrara, for instance.

I don't mean being afraid of something happening to my daughters or to my wife or to my job or whatever other adult fears. I mean it's about being afraid when I was a kid, specifically when I was 11 years old, the year I trained myself not to sleep. It wasn't that hard. I had all the normal childhood fears to draw on. Pops Ferrara, for instance.

He was on my peewee football team, a fifth grader just like me, though he was the kind of fifth grader who could get the nickname Pops. He was squat and bow-legged and crazily muscular, and he had a raspy voice that was indistinguishable from the voice of his father, who was also called Pops.

He was on my peewee football team, a fifth grader just like me, though he was the kind of fifth grader who could get the nickname Pops. He was squat and bow-legged and crazily muscular, and he had a raspy voice that was indistinguishable from the voice of his father, who was also called Pops.

Once in practice, I reached out to slap hands with Pops the Younger, and he took hold of my wrist and turned my hand palm up and hawked a huge loogie into the center of it. He scared the crap out of me. It wasn't just pops, though. I was afraid of the Ponick twins, with their fantastic breasts, and the way they sat on the jungle gym smoking their parents' cigarettes.

Once in practice, I reached out to slap hands with Pops the Younger, and he took hold of my wrist and turned my hand palm up and hawked a huge loogie into the center of it. He scared the crap out of me. It wasn't just pops, though. I was afraid of the Ponick twins, with their fantastic breasts, and the way they sat on the jungle gym smoking their parents' cigarettes.

I was afraid of not doing perfectly in school, and then afraid of being the kid who did perfectly in school. I was afraid of hobos. This isn't a joke. We lived on a dead-end street next to a railroad track, and one night my father woke up and chased two of them out of our house.

I was afraid of not doing perfectly in school, and then afraid of being the kid who did perfectly in school. I was afraid of hobos. This isn't a joke. We lived on a dead-end street next to a railroad track, and one night my father woke up and chased two of them out of our house.

I was afraid of my father having a heart attack because his father had died of a heart attack when he was a kid and had been buried in a cemetery across the street from his house. And I was afraid that when my father died of his heart attack, it would be on a night when my older brother didn't come home until very late, which was happening more and more.

I was afraid of my father having a heart attack because his father had died of a heart attack when he was a kid and had been buried in a cemetery across the street from his house. And I was afraid that when my father died of his heart attack, it would be on a night when my older brother didn't come home until very late, which was happening more and more.

He was 17 years old, a senior in high school, and something bad had come undone in him. He'd started going out each night and coming home at midnight and then sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning, wild-eyed and belligerent, saying weird stuff that we attributed to his being drunk or high, but that much later we realized were the first signs of his schizophrenia.

He was 17 years old, a senior in high school, and something bad had come undone in him. He'd started going out each night and coming home at midnight and then sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning, wild-eyed and belligerent, saying weird stuff that we attributed to his being drunk or high, but that much later we realized were the first signs of his schizophrenia.

My father would sit in the fake leather recliner in our living room, in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, waiting for my brother to come home. And the moment my brother opened the door, the questions and shouting and occasional furniture-toppling fistfight would erupt. I stayed up those nights and watched out my window, waiting for my brother to suddenly appear beneath a street lamp on our block.

My father would sit in the fake leather recliner in our living room, in his boxer shorts and t-shirt, waiting for my brother to come home. And the moment my brother opened the door, the questions and shouting and occasional furniture-toppling fistfight would erupt. I stayed up those nights and watched out my window, waiting for my brother to suddenly appear beneath a street lamp on our block.

One night he stopped there and did an impromptu martial arts kata, punching and kicking the air in front of him for nearly half an hour in the middle of the circle of white light. As soon as I saw him, I'd get out of bed and go into the living room, hoping that my presence there would keep things from escalating, which occasionally it did. And so I taught myself not to go to sleep.

One night he stopped there and did an impromptu martial arts kata, punching and kicking the air in front of him for nearly half an hour in the middle of the circle of white light. As soon as I saw him, I'd get out of bed and go into the living room, hoping that my presence there would keep things from escalating, which occasionally it did. And so I taught myself not to go to sleep.