A couple of weeks ago, I was walking past Waterstones in town when a book in the window display caught my eye. It was called The Insomnia Diaries: How I Learned to Sleep Again by Miranda Levy. I normally avoid books like these; 'how to' books tend to raise my anxiety levels, especially if I make every attempt to learn 'how to' do something and nothing happens. However, I am writing a book about my experiences with insomnia at the moment and I thought it would be good market research. It's really good to know what's out there and how what I go through is similar, or different from other people who write about it.
I've only read the first several pages so far, but this short paragraph struck me:
'Insomnia is a lonely condition. This isn't simply because you're awake when others are asleep, it's also because of what happens to the sleep-deprived brain.'
Yes, insomnia is lonely. How to explain to somebody who sleeps fine or even just reasonably ok what is really going on in that sleep-addled brain? I feel lonely because I don't know how to share - or not to share - this with others. I feel lonely because I don't know how to talk to people when I'm like this. I feel lonely because nobody reads this or responds to it. And I feel lonely because I lose a sense of myself, and coming back to myself when I'm low and sleep deprived is always the most important thing.
I'm in London at the moment (I brought my daughters here for a music course) and there’s something about being in big cities that makes me feel even lonelier. BUT. I was in a bookshop having a browse - being in close proximity to books or nature always calms me - and as I scanned the shelves, I noticed one of the people who worked there close by. You know that feeling when somebody radiates warmth? I really wanted to talk to her, but everything in my exhausted mind and body fought against it. I can’t do it, my mind told me. What would I even say? I have nothing to say.
Incredible, really, that battle of wills that took place in a bookshop before I opened my mouth. But I forced myself to be courageous; to not believe that voice that told me I didn’t have it in me to speak. It might not sound like a big thing, but it is: to bend that brain circuitry and to force myself out of my invisible safety box. So I took a deep breath and I turned to her and asked the first thing that came into my head: What’s it like to work in a bookshop?
What ensued was a lovely fifteen minute conversation about books: her favourites, my favourites, her literature degree, my writing career. I really was not intending to buy a book this morning. My TBR pile at home is just ridiculous. But when she told me about her favourite book with such passion and enthusiasm, I wanted to read it. So I left with a book, and that’s fine. But more importantly than that, I left the shop with gratitude and a stronger sense of self: for being brave. For breaking down self-imposed barriers.
0 comments:
Post a Comment