Sleep and my never ending problems with it

Sleep, as I have said numerous times in numerous places, is a giant issue for me.

I feel closest to people when I sleep, I feel the most vulnerable during sleep, and I also have the purest moments of happiness (usually) when I am just waking up and am in the half asleep state.

As I said in my previous entry after spending nights on the couch that bedroom, and that bed ceased to be mine. In fact, after the very first night of me not being there it was no longer mine - all it took was one night. I'm sure this feeling was accentuated by the fact that this house still doesn't feel like mine, so anything that did feel like mine was being hung unto by a thread - threatening to break with any stress, and the stress of my and Glassman's ending relationship was certainly enough to break that one.

That bed was always the triads bed. Even though Craftymama and I shared it alone while Glassman was at school, and numerous combinations have had sex on it multiple times. We bought the bed together, it was our first big purchase. All three of us tried it out at the bed store - which was funny in and of itself.

When the triad broke up, during our break, it could no longer be the triad's bed, or at least it could no longer exist the way it used to. Given that I was the one who had broken the triad up, I was the one walking away from the bed. Further, they spent that first night together in the bed - which I believe may also have been there first night sleeping alone in a bed together. So with the triad broken, and the bed belonging to no one, it went, by default, to the first pair sleeping there.

Also, I was on the couch. In the exact same position, with S, and also with the same blanket as I had been on many nights in the past when Glassman and I used to live with Cableman and Craftymama on weekends. It was painfully familiar. So much so that it felt like home. I looked out the window and saw the same things I saw all those nights ago when the evenings would be filled with talking and crying and the mornings filled with awkwardness. It was like thats how it was meant to be. So though I hated every second of it, sleeping on the couch with S felt more like home. Thus, further solidifying the bed not being mine. When I would go in there to get dressed, I always felt I was going into someone else's room.

I am back in the bed now. But it still doesn't feel like mine. I still feel like an intruder, and I still feel like I belong on the couch. I am working on that. It will take time for me.

Its such a silly little issue. I mean, its just a bed right? Perhaps its because I put so much value in sleep, that the location of sleep becomes just as important. Either way...it is what it is.