CHAPTER 18

Dreamtime Rituals

Cliff's sessions with his therapist often felt like a mental tug-of-war. He knew the answers were buried somewhere in his mind; he just needed someone to help him unearth them. And when it came to his sleep problems, it was no different. Cliff didn't struggle with falling asleep—that part was easy. The challenge was staying asleep, thanks to a nightly cycle of nightmares that seemed to have been scripted by a horror movie director with a grudge.

One night, he'd be jolted awake, heart pounding, after dreaming that he’d accidentally set his daughter's favorite toy on fire. Another night, he’d be frantically fleeing from an imaginary house fire, only to realize that the terror wasn’t in the flames but in the thought of leaving Venus behind. But the worst part? Each time he woke up, he'd be greeted not just by fear, but by the uncomfortable burn of acid reflux. As if his nightmares weren’t bad enough, his stomach decided to join the party, making his nights a battle of both the mind and the gut.

After one too many sleepless nights, Cliff had an epiphany—maybe his late-night food binges weren’t the best idea. He connected the dots between his nightmares and his late-night eating habits. "Perhaps," he thought, "it’s not just the existential dread that’s keeping me up, maybe it’s just dinner.” So, in true Cliff fashion, he crafted a plan.

First on the list: dinner would be early, light, and devoid of anything that might stage a midnight protest in his esophagus. He also decided to cut back on his water intake in the evening, hoping to avoid the nightly pilgrimage to the bathroom that left him wide awake and grumbling about life’s unfairness. To add an extra layer of defense, he started taking antacids before bed. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was effective.

But Cliff wasn’t done yet. He knew that winding down for sleep was just as important as staying asleep, so he crafted a bedtime routine that would make any sleep expert proud. Three hours before bed, he’d dim the lights, put on some mellow tunes, and—this was the key—avoid checking WhatsApp for the hundredth time. It wasn’t a strict schedule; he gave himself some flexibility, ensuring that his routine was more about relaxation than rigid timing.

Finally, and with some reluctance, he added sleeping pills to his arsenal. He figured that if all else failed, at least the pills would knock him out enough to snooze through the night.

The results were almost immediate. With these changes, Cliff found himself not only sleeping better but also waking up with the kind of energy he hadn’t felt in years. His morning grumpiness was replaced by a newfound sense of optimism. Who knew that sleep—or lack thereof—was the silent saboteur behind his bad mood, poor food choices, and general sense of apathy?

Cliff had cracked the code. By tackling his sleep issues head-on, he broke the vicious cycle that had been dragging him down for far too long. And with his newfound energy, he was ready to take on whatever the day threw at him—one well-rested step at a time.