I was complaining bitterly about my chronic sleeplessness on my 60th birthday this year. I talked of my worries to my older brothers over the Christmas table groaning with goodies. They both confessed to having poor sleep themselves and blamed it on being over 60. “It’s just one of those things”, one said, “that comes with age like a dodgy ankle, bigger stomach, poor eyesight, a stiff back or arthritic thumbs”. I was shocked. A lifetime of being a sound sleeper was no preparation for these long dark nights of ceiling inspection. It was my brothers’ knowing resignation that frightened me most. I thought insomnia was either in your genes or not.
My father had suffered his entire life from insomnia so I had naïvely thought that either you were born a poor sleeper or are one of the lucky ones like me. To find after six decades you could turn vampire like into a non-sleeper was a total betrayal of who I thought I was.
So, I have complained long and hard through this new way of living to all who have the patience to listen. Some proffer herbal drinks or bedtime routines as possible cures. Late night walks, banishing the laptop or avoiding taxing conversations all have been suggested and eagerly embraced by this pathetic night fugitive.
It was the next day weariness that wore me down. I felt as if I was operating on a half a tank and found simple tasks required stupendous effort. Typical sleep deprived mistakes included writing an entire set of appointments and meetings on the wrong week of my diary. That was followed by a confusing number of missed calls from furious people and knocking on my door by students while I was out doing anything other than what I was supposed to be doing. “Sorry, sorry” became my new mantra that week.
That was also the week I started talking to myself on public transport. People began to give me odd looks as I gave myself a good stern dressing down for missing another important meeting. It’s fortunate that nowadays, I can pretend I have a particularly modern, almost invisible, headset to my phone. I have become cunning and when I would notice the glances of perplexed onlookers, as I blabber, I place an index finger in my ear and pause as if hearing a response from someone, then nod knowledgeably.
Some dark days when I see others talking heatedly into their hands-free phones I wonder have they lost it too but are even better experts than me at hiding their mental state?
They use sleep deprivation as torture and I know why. After three weeks of continuous poor sleeping, I transmuted into a different entity. When people spoke to me all I heard was blah, blah, blah. But for some reason, I was able to read their minds with particular intensity. Their mouth would be going blah, blah but the tiny muscles around their mouth indicated their anger or sadness. Not hearing their actual words, their body language seemed to shout more clearly. A particular nose touch indicating a lie, a quick pursing of the lips, dislike. I remember standing in front of one chap at a party hearing his braying blah, blah but seeing his eyes furtively dart to a young woman seated on the sofa nearby. His evident longing for her was louder than his braying.
After the fourth week of continuous disturbed sleep, a new dangerous state emerged. Now, I no longer heard or saw people. Acquaintances would accost me in the supermarket and I would examine them as if they were trying to sell me something on the phone. My response invariably would be “no thanks, no thanks” before I shuffled off politely.
Sleep deprivation finally ends in madness I can tell! Another week and I would begin rampaging through the shop shopping centre overturning goods while trying to undress myself in public. One more month of this and I would be a drooling, twitching, incontinent.
Thankfully and I do mean thankfully last night I had a wondrous night’s sleep. As a result, I have leapfrogged back to almost normality. I can keep appointments, hear what others say and have conversations again. I’m still scolding myself in public but the tone has become much more sympathetic like a firm mentor giving constructive criticism and I can actually almost pass for normal once more. Miracles do happen!
