A bad night’s sleep is the worst. It disturbs you for the rest of the day, and, if it happens constantly, can send you over the edge. I just love the way Sylvia described it in her journals in 1953.
Some sleep is like a pile of garbage, with egg shells jagged, and vermin swarming over lurid orange peels, coffee grounds, and sick, wan, lettuce leaves.
It really is that awful. Thankfully, touch wood, right now, I sleep well. (Apart from when my husband snores a lot, but let’s leave that for now!). But there have been times in the past when my sleep has gone; when I have lain awake, wondering if sleep will ever come.
The edge of sleep must be one of the loneliest places in the world. It’s that time when you just can’t nod off, no matter how much you try, but you also can’t rise from your bed, fearful that should you get up, you’ll never get there.
So, you lie, you toss, you turn, and you try to get to sleep. Your mind races, and you doze off, and then you wake up again, and then you doze off again, and so it goes on until, normally, you finally feel like you are soundly asleep…and the alarm goes off.
Full on insomnia is different. Lying down, and realising that there’s no point in even pretending you are going to sleep, and just getting up again, and trying to use the waking hours constructively, but usually just fretting and worrying about why your sleep is disturbed, and how awful your life is.
I know, I’ve been there. If you can’t sleep, I am truly sorry for you, and if you can, relish every minute of it!