You know that feeling when you're caught in a loop, a specific feedback mechanism your own brain has engineered, and you just…observe it? Like it’s not happening to *you*, but to some specimen under a microscope. It started, I think, about six months ago. Before that, my nights were standard issue: scroll, sleep, alarm. Now, it's… different. It’s always around 10:45 PM. I’ve finished the nightly routine – doors locked, dishwasher running, checking the smart thermostat to ensure it’s set to 68 degrees, the ideal temperature for REM sleep according to that article in *Psychology Today*. I’m usually in bed by 11:00 PM, phone charging on the nightstand. But lately, I can’t just… lie there. There’s this almost magnetic pull to my wrist. I’ll press my index and middle fingers against my radial artery, just below the thumb. One, two, three… you feel that steady, rhythmic thumping. The first few times, it was curiosity, I suppose. A quick check, maybe twenty seconds. But then it became an assessment. Is it regular? Is it strong? And then the internal dialogue starts. *What if it stops?* Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way, but just… ceases. While I’m asleep. Because I’m alone. You picture it – the paramedics finding you, days later, the neighbors noticing the uncollected mail, the lawn getting shaggy. The quiet judgment. My God, the quiet judgment. It’s escalated. Now, I’m checking almost hourly. The first check is usually around 11:15 PM, then again at 12:30 AM. If I wake up for the bathroom – which happens more frequently now, probably due to the low-grade anxiety – it’s another check. 2:15 AM. 3:40 AM. Sometimes, I’ll actually set a silent alarm on my watch for 2:00 AM, just to ensure I haven't gone too long without verifying. You tell yourself it’s preventative, a risk mitigation strategy. But really, it’s a compulsion. The worst part is that moment when you *think* you miss a beat. That tiny, almost imperceptible hiccup in the rhythm. Your stomach drops. Your diaphragm constricts. Is this it? Is this the beginning of the end? You hold your breath, focusing all sensory input on that single point of contact on your wrist. Usually, it was just a miscount, a momentary lapse in concentration. But the jolt, that sudden surge of adrenaline – it’s like a micro-trauma every single time. It takes fifteen minutes to calm down enough to even consider attempting sleep again. This isn’t rational. I’m 31. My annual physical in March showed perfect cardiac health: blood pressure 110/70, resting heart rate 62 BPM, cholesterol excellent. I run three times a week. I eat reasonably well, mostly. My doctor even commented on my "optimal health markers." He chalked up my occasional fatigue to "the demands of modern professional life." He wouldn’t understand. No one would. You don’t bring this up at brunch, certainly not with Sarah who just got promoted to VP or Mark who’s expecting his second. Their concerns are about daycare waitlists and interest rates. My concern is whether my own heart will betray me tonight. I've even considered an Apple Watch, for the continuous heart rate monitoring. But then what? Would seeing a constant stream of data make it better, or just feed the loop? I imagine the notifications: *Heart Rate Below Threshold. Heart Rate Above Threshold.* It feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy waiting to happen. You’re already creating the data points in your head, the hypothetical anomalies. A device would just make it… official. Sometimes I just lie there, fingers on my wrist, listening to the quiet hum of the mini-fridge in the garage, the faint drone of traffic from the interstate a mile away. My house, paid for, landscaped, exactly what you’re supposed to have at this stage. Everything externally… flawless. Internally? It’s just this repetitive, almost clinical self-surveillance. A perpetual state of internal audit. And you wonder, what exactly am I auditing for? Because the only potential outcome of this particular audit is… cessation. It's 2:17 AM now. Just checked it again. 70 beats in 60 seconds. Regular. Strong. For now. You can't help but wonder if it's some primitive instinct, a desperate attempt at control in a life where so much feels predetermined, so much is about hitting arbitrary targets. Or maybe it's just… a symptom. Of what, I have no idea. But the silence after each check, that momentary reprieve before the thought inevitably resurfaces – it's the only peace I get. Until the next hour.