Programmed to be chronically sleep deprived

In my sleep-deprived moments, I struggle to think deeply and clearly. There’s a thin cloud that warps my thoughts and keeps me from recalling things I want to remember during conversations or at work. At times, a colleague would say something, and I would ask them to repeat it a couple of times before I finally understood what they meant.

I could also see myself crumbling from the inside, where I end up occupying myself in distracted activities and overconsumption to cover up my need for rest. I can sense that I’m losing grip on critical thinking and autonomy, often running on autopilot to get through the day.

I have also met people who have been sleep-deprived for years—like an emblem of productivity. Not only do they lack focus and depth, but they also undervalue solitude in action. For them, being in solitude is a sign of laziness, while glorifying busyness.

What does solitude look like?

It could be a physical or emotional pocket of space where you exist undisturbed, alone with your thoughts, and without the obligation to engage. Sometimes it looks peaceful, where you enjoy the morning in your thoughts, sipping hot cocoa while reading a book by the window and being disconnected from the world: just you and your thoughts. Sometimes it looks lonely, where you sit alone in a park.

But what we gain from these moments of detachment and freedom from obligation is clarity of thought.

I can’t help but think about systems that keep people overworked and sleep-deprived so that they would never have time to think deeply and meditate. They may feel exploited and manipulated, but they will never realize how deeply they’re already in.

Sleep deprivation isn’t just a byproduct of modern life. Sometimes, it’s a tool for manipulation and mind control.

When we are sleep deprived, our prefrontal cortex—the part of our brain responsible for critical thinking, judgment, and saying “wait, something’s wrong here”—is compromised^1,2. In this case, what’s left is a version of ourselves that’s more suggestible, more compliant, and more willing to accept things we would normally question. We become easier to mold.

I have been in groups where exhaustion was a badge of honor. If you start questioning the pace, they would think that you lack commitment to the cause. They account for every hour, fill every moment of your day, so you’ll never have the space anymore to step back and ask: Is this right? Is this healthy? What is this for? Who is this for? You would be compelled to want only what the group wants.

What’s even more interesting is how deprivation doesn’t work alone. It’s often paired with love-bombing, where compliance is encouraged, pushing you to carry on even when you are visibly in need of rest, so that you would even desire to go above and beyond out of a sense of selflessness. You would also be subjected to isolation from outside perspectives—because people outside us have depraved minds and we cannot be associated with them—and with a constant stream of doctrine that fills the silence where your own thoughts should be.

You’d be too tired to notice the contradictions in your sleep-deprived state. Too drained to trust your own instincts. And slowly, your sense of self dissolves into the collective exhaustion. Without clarity of thought, you will be subdued by the silence of the invisible, controlling power that manipulates the narrative.

I learned the hard way how the most insidious forms of control don’t announce themselves. They masquerade as ambition, dedication, and productivity, urging us to push ourselves to the limit and break them. They would say in public, “You must rest to restore your strength.” But to their inner circle, they would say, “Rest is weakness, and solitude is selfish,” on loop. And in our exhaustion, we’re too tired to question them.

The first act of rebellion might be the simplest: we need to close our eyes and reclaim our minds.

References:
¹ Lim, J., & Dinges, D. F. (2010). A meta-analysis of the impact of short-term sleep deprivation on cognitive variables. Psychological bulletin, 136(3), 375–389. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0018883
² Goel, N., Rao, H., Durmer, J. S., & Dinges, D. F. (2009). Neurocognitive consequences of sleep deprivation. Seminars in neurology, 29(4), 320–339. https://doi.org/10.1055/s-0029-1237117