There are times when I find myself recalling my period of insomnia. I go through bouts of it from time to time, usually as a symptom of stress, and it keeps me up all night with little in the way of tiredness until the morning hits. Then it catches up with me. When I was in sixth form, in the two years before I started blogging, I had really chronic insomnia in conjunction with depression. Barely sleeping at night, I would flake out on the bus to school and during classes, often going straight into dream sleep in the few seconds I was out. Many was the time that Jim gave me a hard dig in the ribs as I started to slip sideways in my chair during history lessons.

History wasn’t the worst class for eliciting narcoleptic behaviour. I was doing an A-level in physics simply as a make-weight because I considered taking ‘general studies’ or ‘critical thinking’ to be beneath my dignity. Sat at the back of a class conducted by a man who could suck the will from a room in seconds flat, I would position my arms to look like I was writing and rest my forehead on my right arm. Scraping an E grade by one UMS point in that subject was a small price to pay in exchange for the two hours of precious dozing time it bought me each week. For all the stress of A-levels, I could relax more at the back of that physics class than I could at home.

I did get to sleep each night at home, usually at about two in the morning (no good when you have to be up for school at half past six), and you’d think I would be able to recover my losses at weekends. This state of affairs was destroyed by my dad’s horrible work ethic that demanded that everyone in the house should be up in the morning and appear to be doing things. My mum, mentally battered by his tantrums, then had to sling me out of bed before ten every Saturday and Sunday morning, leaving me in state of nervous tension that meant that for over a year after sympathy for my nights shifts at the cinema and moving to Birmingham had put an end to this torture I would still wake if I heard the sounds of human activity outside my bedroom door any time after eight in the morning.

Although a year away from my dad has taught me to relax, my last bout was last Christmas when, left alone in a house that has malign presences in the living room and on the stairs, I found myself feeling unsafe in my own bed. With Legolas on a field trip and Rose about to go back to Devon for a hospital appointment, I’m about to be left alone for a week in this place again. I will be most relieved when moving day finally comes.


~ by Scary Rob on 23 June, 2006.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: