My three-year struggle with insomnia, and that "sleep-inducing doctor" named Leibo Leisheng.
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3:07 AM.
I'm staring at the ceiling counting sheep again—I've already counted 3147. The flock of sheep could circle the earth three times 🐑🌍, but I'm still soberly contemplating life: Why was it that when I was a child, I would fall asleep as soon as my mom said "close your eyes," but now it's so hard for me to lull myself to sleep?
As a "veteran night owl" who has been battling insomnia for three years, I have tried so many ways to help me sleep that they could circle around my bedside: warm milk 🥛, melatonin 💊, ASMR ear-cleaning videos 🎧, and even tried memorizing political exam questions before bed (I didn't fall asleep, but instead remembered "the particularity of contradictions").
Until one day, a friend gave me a name: Leibo Leisheng.
"What is this? A new sleeping pill?" I asked warily.
“It’s not your average sleeping pill,” she said mysteriously, “it’s a sleep aid.”
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Chapter 1: A "Director of Staying Up All Night" Lives in My Brain 🧠
Let me first explain why I have insomnia.
The doctor told me that there's something in the human brain called orexin. Its job is simple: to wake you up and keep you alert.
You can think of it as that annoying project manager in your company 💼. You've just arrived at your workstation in the morning, and he comes over with coffee: "Hey, can this feature go live today?" You're about to leave work in the evening, and he peeks in: "Um, the client has a new requirement, they need it tomorrow morning."
For a normal person, this project manager would go home at night—their mind would be quiet, and they would be able to sleep.
And me? My project manager is 007.
At 3 a.m., my appetite system was still tagging everyone in the group chat: "Brothers, wake up! It's 3 a.m.! Let's discuss what to eat tomorrow morning!" I was lying in bed, my eyes wide open, my brain as active as if it were a company annual meeting.
This is the truth behind my insomnia: it's not that I don't want to sleep, it's that someone is forcing me to stay awake.
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Chapter Two: Traditional Sleeping Pills – The Plan to "Get the Boss Drunk" 🥃
In my struggle with insomnia, I have tried traditional sleeping pills.
I've tried tranquilizers. I've also tried benzodiazepines. Their working logic is simple and brutal: get everyone in the company drunk, including the project manager.
When they woke up, the entire company was hungover—headaches, unsteady on their feet, and even during meetings, they were thinking about sleeping just five more minutes. The project manager calmed down, but the whole company was paralyzed.
What's worse, a few days later I discovered that the project manager's alcohol tolerance had improved. He used to pass out after just one drink, but now he can drink three and still send voice messages in the group chat. The doctor told me this is called "tolerance"—you need more and more medication to shut that jerk up.
Even more terrifying, one day I forgot to "drink alcohol," and as a result, the project manager held an all-hands meeting all night, even more disruptive than before my insomnia. The doctor said this is called "rebound insomnia."
I thought to myself: This isn't a sleeping pill, it's a loan shark's loan—easy to borrow, but a nightmare to repay.
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Chapter 3: Leibo Leisheng – “HR Miss” Makes Her Debut 👩💼
At this moment, Leiblerson appeared.
Its working method impressed me: it didn't get anyone drunk; it just talked to the project manager.
“Um…Xiao X,” Leibo said gently, “I know you’re a hard worker, but it’s three in the morning now, and all the other colleagues are asleep. Why don’t you take a rest? We can start work again at eight tomorrow morning, okay?”
The project manager thought for a moment: "It seems...that might work?"
Then he shut up. The whole company was quiet. I, naturally, fell asleep.
This is where Leborrheic's brilliance lies: it doesn't suppress the entire brain, but precisely blocks the signal from the "orexin"—that is, it shuts up the project manager, preventing him from shouting. The rest of the brain remains normal, functioning as usual.
It doesn't knock you out; it helps you turn off the alarm clock that shouldn't be ringing.
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Chapter 4: My First Experience Eating Leboresen – I Was Shocked 😲
To be honest, before I tried it for the first time, I thought it was probably just another scam.
Half an hour before bed, I took one pill as prescribed. Then I turned off the lights, lay down, and started counting sheep.
When I counted to the 23rd one—I fell asleep.
It wasn't the kind of blackout where everything went black, nor was it the kind of unconsciousness where you feel like you've been hit on the head with a club; it was just... falling asleep like a normal person.
What's even more amazing is waking up in the morning. No hangover, no dizziness, no feeling of being lost or confused. I opened my eyes and glanced at my phone—7:30 AM, I'd slept for a full eight hours.
When was the last time I slept through the night? I can't remember.
That morning, I sat on the edge of the bed and almost cried. Not because I was moved, but because I realized: this is what it feels like for a normal person to sleep.
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Chapter 5: It's not a perfect "miracle drug" either—the side effects need to be clearly explained 📋
Of course, I'm not here to advertise for Leborrheic. It has its own little quirks too.
First, it requires cooperation. If you're still scrolling through your phone after taking your medication, even Lebo Leisheng can't compete with TikTok—just when one project manager calms down, short videos send you ten new project managers.
Secondly, it has a very strange side effect called "complex sleep behavior." This means that some people sleepwalk, eat, or even drive while in a semi-conscious state. The doctor specifically instructed me: "If you find leftover food wrappers next to your bed the next morning, but have no recollection of eating them, stop taking the medication immediately."
I imagined the scene: getting up in the middle of the night to eat instant noodles, wiping your mouth afterward and going back to sleep, only to have complete amnesia the next day—isn't that just a sleepwalking version of "Midnight Diner"? 🍜👻
Thankfully, I wasn't infected. But although the probability is small, it does exist, and we must be vigilant.
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Chapter Six: The Drug Withdrawal Experiment—The Most Thrilling Week 😰
After taking it for two months, I decided to conduct an experiment: stop taking the medication.
This is the part I fear most—when I stopped taking tranquilizers before, I would wake up at 2 a.m. for three consecutive days, more accurately than an alarm clock.
And what was the result?
Day 1: Asleep. Day 2: Asleep. Day 3... Still asleep.
It's not the kind of "perfect sleep." I wake up occasionally, but I just turn over and fall asleep again. There's no rebound insomnia, no retaliatory awakenings; it's like... I've just stopped taking the medication, not that the medication has abandoned me.
I asked the doctor why. The doctor said, "Because it doesn't change your brain structure, it just helps you adjust your rhythm. It's like if you hire a personal trainer and train for two months, your muscles remember how to exert force, and you can train on your own even after the trainer leaves."
I accept this analogy 💪.
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The ending: My three-year war with insomnia has finally come to a truce 🤝
Now, I still occasionally take Leboresen—for example, when I'm jet-lagged while traveling for work, or when I'm under a lot of pressure and I can clearly sense that the project manager is going to work overtime.
But it's no longer a "lifeline," but rather just one of the "tools." I pay more attention to sleep hygiene: not using my phone before bed, keeping my bedroom dark, and not drinking coffee after noon... These old clichés actually really work.
The person who used to count sheep at 3 a.m. can now naturally feel sleepy at 11 p.m. Not every day, but most of the time.
If you are also struggling with insomnia, I want to say a few words to you:
First, you're not alone in this fight. Being awake at 3 AM isn't your fault—it might just be that your orexin system is working too hard.
Second, technology is advancing, so don't give up hope. From "brain-intoxicating" to "precise sleep induction," we have truly found a better option.
Finally, I hope you meet that gentle "sleep-inducing doctor" tonight, and then say to that project manager who's working overtime:
"I'm off work now, see you tomorrow."
Good night, sweet dreams 🌙✨
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(Note: This article is based on real-life experiences with insomnia and medical information, and uses personification for easier understanding. Leboresen is a prescription drug; please use it under the guidance of a doctor. This article does not constitute medical advice.)