Sleep Patterns in Bipolar Children

At about 7:00 A.M., I begin to try to wake him up. The two alarm clocks I've set for him begin to ring. I shake his arm, tell him what time it is, pull off his covers, and turn up the TV so loud that I'm sure the neighbors can hear it. I repeat these methods for around fifteen minutes, but Greg seems completely oblivious to all this activity, as if this was ER and he was the person in the coma. I look at the clock, and panic overtakes me. I begin to yell. Loudly. "You have to get up now. You're sleeping away the school year. You're going to miss the science test again, and you know that Mr. Thompson will give you a zero. If you keep this up, you're going to end up failing the class altogether. This is inexcusable. Get up NOW or your TV privileges are HISTORY for the rest of the month."

Greg grunts and bats me away with his hand, as if in a trance, then falls back to sleep. I begin to feel guilty about yelling and soften my approach a bit. "Look, I know it's really hard for you to wake up. The problem is that if you don't get up in fifteen minutes, you're not going to make it to school on time. Please, please. Just try. Here, I'll help you. Hold my hands, and I'll give you a tow. Sitting up is the hardest part. After that, things will get easier. You'll see."

Greg sleeps on. Frustrated, I call in the big guns: my husband, Joe.

Greg responds to his father's attempts to wake him by pulling the covers over his head and elbowing him if he gets too close. There have been some mornings when my husband has actually lifted Greg out of bed and stood him up. We thought for a minute this might work. Greg walked down the hall as if headed for the bathroom, but he didn't make it beyond his brother's bedroom, where he lay down on the bed and fell back asleep. By then, it was time for my husband to head off to work and for the other kids to be in school, and we all finally gave up. Greg usually wakes up on his own around 10 or 11 A.M., but he's extremely grumpy and out of it. It takes him at least an hour to wake up, start functioning, and get dressed. Since the school year began three weeks ago, Greg has already been late eight times. I can't make up any more excuses about dental appointments, and the guidance counselor at the school is growing less understanding by the day. He says we have to think about putting a behavioral plan in place. "Have you tried getting an alarm clock for him?" he asks.

At nighttime, I feel good. It's like I could do anything. Morning is bad. No matter how hard I try, no matter how early I go to bed the night before, I can't get myself awake. It's like I'm in a dream and I'm trying real hard to come out of the dream but I can't. If somebody said, "I'll give you a million dollars if you just wake up," I don't know for sure if I could. All I want to do is sleep. I hate it when my family starts yelling at me. I wish they'd just go away and leave me alone for about two hours—and then I could wake up. They don't understand what it's like. Neither do my teachers. I feel bad in the morning. It's like I'm in a fog.

I wish I could get up and go to school on time like the rest of the kids. I always miss computer class and gym first thing in the morning. I hate that 'cuz computers is my favorite subject. I get there just in time for the hard stuff, like math and writing.