Thousands of characters
Rushing around my head,
All bouncing and waving-
A little too much for me to take.
They punctuate those rare moments,
Where silence fills the spaces
In the vacant seconds of a day.
They pinch and prod me,
Appearing more real than reality.
They need me so that they can live,
So they can breathe,
So they can stretch and feel.
Without me, my characters have no life,
They wander and stumble in the dark
Frantic like a lost toddler;
They die in the dark,
So sleep is not an option.
They need the colour
Require vivid imagination,
Must have the control of my body
Down to my fingertips
Where I reach for a pen.
I watch them restlessly,
I’m worried, waiting for the day
When they wander off
Sick of not being fulfilled,
Tired that their fiction isn’t tangible,
Exasperated at my failure to listen.
My characters wander around,
Always around the perimeters,
Threatening my overspilling head.
I need them to survive.
They are my lifeline, my escape.
My only fact is my fiction.
It’s so strange how insomnia dives in and out of my life in waves.
I will go through long periods of time in which I will be starved of sleep. I will lie resolutely awake at night in my bed and stare desperately into the darkness, willing the night to take me in and invite me to share in it’s peace. During these months where I experience insomnia consistently, sleep is dangled in front of me like a carrot as the tiredness which dominates my brain seems to overcome me and it appears inevitable that as soon as my head hits the pillow, I will instantly fall into a satisfyingly deep sleep. However, after settling into bed, my brain comes alive and the fiery frenzy of my imagination is unleashed on my brain, stopping me from gaining any rest and being able to switch-off my anxieties.
Although, I do go through periods when I think I am cured and that I will be able to sleep restfully at will. Some days, I can sleep for 12 hours and not have to pull myself out of bed in the morning with sore, bleary eyes and the knowledge that I will have to face the day with even less energy than the day before. This seems to me like insomnia’s cruellest trick. It lets you experience a normal, restful sleep pattern and settle into a functioning nightly routine only to plunge itself back into your life again with it’s full brutal force and deprive you of the comfort you have since become accustomed to.
When a wave of insomnia overwhelms me, it twists and tortures me under its weight. My whole personality undergoes a process of poisoning as I begin to regularly snap at people for the smallest, most insignificant things. My patience for other people is slashed as a constant feeling of resentment pushes at the forefront of my brain, reminding me that these people aren’t having to stave off aggressive waves of exhaustion whilst dragging themselves through days where they are plagued with anxiety and depression as I am. Then, when I lie awake at night, I have to confront the guilt which these patterns of thought produce as I recognise that I have no idea what the people I meet during the day are going through in their personal lives and I should never turn my distress into a silent competition to be played against other people.
Ultimately, I have accepted that insomnia is going to be a fluctuating presence in my life for the foreseeable future and that, when waves of it pour into my life, I will just have to remind myself that I have endured the frustration of sleepless nights and the nagging hurt of exhausting days before and I can do it again.
No matter how much sleep I get at night, I always feel so tired.
Tiredness follows me around all day and hangs like a weight from my chest which drags me down. It weighs on my mind and makes me slow to make decisions. My eyelids droop all day and tempt me to give in to my exhaustion; close my eyes and sink into a world of oblivious darkness.
I pour coffee down my throat in large amounts to try and make me feel more awake and aware. The only result of this is that I feel jittery, anxious and paranoid for the next few hours but at least this means that I am able to feel something that makes sense to me.
I schedule my day around my tiredness, knowing that I will inevitably not be able to do any work in the early afternoon because my concentration will have gone out of the window. Then, for some reason I will feel more energised after 10pm, meaning that I cannot get to sleep however much I know that I need to. Then I am forced to lie awake listening to the parties going on around me on campus and hear people’s genuine rings of laughter and uninhibited shouts of joy which makes me feel even more isolated.
Watching wakefully as the hours stretch before me,
My mind navigates morosely
Through the miles of empty time.
My bed – once my friend
Pokes fun at my discomfort,
Jostles me as we wind through the night;
Together, yet alone.
We crawl past mental topic after mental topic,
Pausing sometimes for an indulgent pit-stop,
But ultimately forced to carry on
Rolling heavily through the undulating night.
Angry words pass between night and me;
Jibes that cannot be drowned-out,
Not even an untuned radio can save me from spite.
So I turn my back on night’s dark figure
And hope it choses a smoother path once more.
These walls are paper thin. Every couple minutes I hear another frustrating slam of a door or ear-splitting giggle of a group of girls or aggravating roar of a drunk boy showing off.
I roll and writhe in this, still, unfamiliar bed. My body contorts into the most intricate positions but none of these bring about sleep. My mind alights with anger and annoyance; I am so tired, so why can’t I just sleep?
All day I have felt like I could fall asleep at any moment – standing-up cooking, sitting down writing, strolling around campus – but now that it comes to the time when I am in bed, sleep seems the farthest away from me that it has been all day. Sleep taunts me, I know how good it would feel to peacefully slip into a deep slumber and wake-up the next day refreshed and energised but every night I am robbed of this possibility. Instead, I spend fitful nights awake, thinking profound and anxious thoughts about the days to come and growing more and more infuriated with myself for not being able to perform this basic human function; sleep.
A mental clock in my head periodically calculates the amount of time I have left before I will have to get up for classes. I know that I will have yet another day tomorrow when I will drag myself blearily from task to task, never being able to give my full concentration as my head will loll lazily to one side, longing for my pillow.
Tiredness is something which touches everyone’s lives at some point but every time it’s pressure reaches past a certain point, it convinces us that this weight is too much to bear. Tiredness has the ability to crush you slowly whilst using the guise of an everyday ailment which people tell you to ‘get over’ because it is a normal facet of everyone’s life.
Whilst fatigue cumulates and gains more form and substance, it seeps into more areas of your body and life. By the time it builds to become the figure of exhaustion, it takes the appearance of your body and replaces the ‘usual’ you. It gains control of your brain, growing small uncharacteristic errors in basic tasks to large oversights in life and work. It sucks the colour away from your skin like a parasite and gives you back in return lurid blue smudges under your eyes; the mark of the haunted. Your speech loses it’s once distinct character which is replaced with a hollow, unfeeling monotone whose small and lifeless outline barely reaches the ears of others.
Tiredness learns to live vicariously through you whilst also moulding you to it’s shrivelled and decrepit self.
Once it has enforced it’s own impression on your body, it tactically repulses or frightens people away. Short, snappy language begins to seep, like your own life force, out of your mouth and becomes an ugly couple with the ungainly appearance of a disinterested frown which takes residence upon your face.
Tiredness drives you to a place where it can have you for itself; doors and windows securely shut and exempt from the reaches of concern and worry.