I woke up this morning to discover the world covered in a blanket of perfectly white, thick snow. Not just a half-hearted coat that greys and melts after a few hours but the kind of snow I remember wading through in moon boots as a child in Switzerland. Utterly captivating. Staring out at it seemed to suit my mood perfectly - the white blankness of it, a void of empty nothingness beautifying the ugliness beneath it.
Andy returned from India a few days ago and it wasn't quite the reunion I'd envisaged. I had been so looking forward to seeing him again so, try as hard as I might not to feel this, the disappointment of three sleepless nights since his return is crushing. I know I've been through this a million times before, trying not to cling on to the hope that perhaps things are getting better. But they were getting better in Devon. They were, they were, they were. During the three weeks I was there, I'd say I only had three very bad nights and for me that is amazing. Why is it then, that when I would most love energy and for smiles to flow freely that they are most locked up inside me? Probably for that reason precisely: because I want is so much. But what's the answer? To try some reverse psychology and tell myself, hey, I can be a Margaret Thatcher... I can survive on 4 hours of sleep a night...No, this is pointless. For a start, the past three nights I've been averaging 2 hours a night and this, I believe, is not enough even for the most hardened and enlightened insomniac amongst us.
Whilst in Devon, I had a long phone conversation with a girl I worked with years ago in London. I heard that she suffers from insomnia and even moved to a new city to try and 'start again'. She told me that she has had this problem for 6 years now and is still searching for the holy grail of deep sleep. SIX years. How on earth do you manage to work, I asked her. How on earth do you manage to look after two children, she responded. Yes, we insomniacs all have our own personal challenges. I know I'm very lucky in one respect that I don't have to put on a suit and battle through a day at an office, trying to appear switched on to colleagues. Because, quite simply, I could not manage that. Instead, it's a constant battle with myself and my shaky emotional state that fluctuates between anger, frustration, sadness and self-loathing when I am on a 'downer'. Which, as I have documented countless times, then pays its toll on my nearest and dearest.
Perhaps I too shall have to endure this for six or more years. I know I can't live like that, fearing such longevity and I just need to carry on and get on with my life. In the meantime, I must keep trying every lotion, potion, remedy and therapy that is recommended to me. I do believe this is temporary, I have to believe this is temporary. Looking at the greater picture, a few years in one's entire life is just a phase after all. And perhaps when Maya wakes from her nap, I shall take her outside to the Swiss chocolate box snow and we can lie in it and make angels with our arms and rather than feeling as empty as I do now, the cold, biting crunch will wake me from my daze.
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