How Torturous Is Insomnia?When 3 AM Feels Like an Eternal Prison

Last night, I stared at the ceiling for the 17th consecutive night. The clock ticked from 11 PM to 1 AM, then to 3 AM—each second stretching into an endless minute. I’d tried everything the internet suggested: no screens 2 hours before bed, dark curtains, even that “4-7-8 breathing technique” my friend swore by. But my brain? It was a radio stuck on a talk show, replaying work emails, grocery lists, and that awkward thing I said at lunch.

By 4 AM, panic set in. “If I fall asleep now, I’ll only get 3 hours,” I thought. “Tomorrow’s meeting will be a disaster.” My body ached like I’d run a marathon, but my mind buzzed with nervous energy—like drinking three coffees by mistake. When the first light seeped through the window, I wanted to cry. I’d spent the night fighting to rest, and lost.

The next day was worse. I stood in front of the coffee machine for 5 minutes, forgetting why I was there. My boss asked a simple question, and I stared at her blankly, words vanished. By noon, my temples throbbed so hard I had to hide in the bathroom. That’s the cruelest part of insomnia: it doesn’t just steal sleep—it steals your ability to function like a normal human.

I later learned this kind of “brain hyperactivity” often ties to anxious energy getting trapped in the body. Now I spend 5 minutes before bed pressing the Shenmen point on my wrist (that little hollow near your pinky)—it’s like hitting a “mute button” for my overactive thoughts. It doesn’t fix everything overnight, but it’s the first time I’ve felt in control instead of prisoner to the clock.