As much as I hate soft rock I reckon I could cope with it blaring in my head 24/7 if ever the US Army feel the need to capture and break me. It’s the sleeplessness that would get to me, no matter how averse I am to Bon bloody Jovi. Oh insomnia, how you drive me mad. A childhood affliction then dismissed as ‘highly strung’ now has a name and meds and an endless collection of so called remedies but still no sleep.
Zzzz’s are something I can’t take for granted and no darkened, lavender infused, chilled, screen free, massaged, hot milked or bathed space can send the sodding thing to bedfordshire. Yes it comes in phases and yes sometimes I’ll sleep the sleep of angels but most nights its the usual, endless frustrating lights out, head on pillow, brain suddenly wide awake. No shipping forecast can guide me to sweet dreams and the zopi unpredictable in its attempts to knock me out. Put an alarm on my waking and I’m up like Lionel, all night long.
Oh insomnia, the part of me that never forgets can become loyalty, my depressive tendencies just add to my cynical dry humour and the fibro always means I have a tale to tell about the NHS but you bring me almost nowt. Okay so those 5am documentaries on the BBC World Service are most informative and my garden sounds divine at dawn but what I’d give for a lifelong phase of real sleep. One not forced and fidget filled as I endless try to concentrate on counting sheep. Baaa!