I suffer, quite often, from sleeplessness. It would be wrong to say insomnia, since I do actually manage to sleep eventually, just never quite when I want to. I'll tuck myself in at midnight like a good boy, and still be wide awake and itchy-eyed when the sun rises, which is usually the cue for my body to pass out and put me in a sleep-coma that lasts all day. I have a pretty good idea why this happens to me, though I'll be damned if I seem to be able to do anything about it. Lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, there isn't much to do but ruminate and jumble those negative thoughts around. Thanks to my uncanny ability to remember the worst of times in exacting detail, there are plenty to choose from. During the day there's plenty to keep me occupied, but once I'm in bed... well, that's just my brain's favourite time to stir that stuff up. You try sleeping when the worst of you is jitterbugging in front of your mind's eye.
This is how I devour so many books, and have a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of Daniel Radcliffe's recent interviews (What? He's a goddamn delight and magnetic to watch!). All that dead time that normal people fill with sleep is when I let distractions pour into my brain. Anything - anything at all - to keep myself away from those insidious, creeping reminders that my life is far from peachy right now.
TFD knows what's up
I've done pretty much everything except get dosed up on sleeping pills, engaging in pretty much every method of 'sleep hygiene' that seems remotely credible and some that weren't: visualising energy leaving my body, anti-histamines that cause drowsiness as a side-effect, meditation and even spending the night next to a massive open jar of majoram. I expect it's only a matter of time before I buy a dream-catcher from a car boot sale and start sacrificing goats to Morpheus and/or Neil Gaiman. None of it really works, though, and so I'm left with this cycle of being shattered one day and then full of energy the next, once I've actually managed to sleep.
It's not all bad though. Being sleep-deprived on a semi-regular basis makes the world a funny place to look at. For starters, I am always insanely high-energy after a night on the insomnia-juice. My mind, at least, is sharp as a slightly manic tack and I generally find I get a lot more of my brain crack down on paper. This post only exists because I've been up all night and am desperately trying to find something to do that'll eat up time before I can legitimately go to bed. I find this feverish creativity thrilling, frustrating and appalling in equal measure.
Finishing that brain crack is another matter, however, as my body seems unwilling to keep up with my mind and soon lets it be known that it'd like to sleep. Now, please. No, don't worry about it, just go lie down on the bed. Oh, whoops! Now it's 8pm and dark out! Days like this are generally consist of racing to get as much done as possible before the inevitable crash.
The one significant ray of life in this strange twilight existence is knowing that I'm not alone in it. It's a common problem for people suffering from depression, which I have experienced, and I've got it better than most. I actually can sleep, just not when I need to or want to. Yes, it screws up the odd appointment and interview - the last one I did was fuelled entirely by Tesco's own brand of energy drink, a noxious concoction called KX - and yes I often shuffle around the house like a particularly brain-deprived zombie, but when sleep comes it is glorious. When your day consists primarily of applying for jobs and then running around trying to find things to do that will fill up all that horrendous empty time, the prospect of being able to pass out into a long, dreamless sleep at the end of the day is amazing. Plus, it's a massive boon if you want to learn about Daniel Radcliffe, so there's that. Hey! Silver linings, right?
