Sleep eluded me like a teddy in a claw machine, its softness always slipping from my grasp. My wife lay beside me, snoring contentedly – a buzzing wasp that I wanted to swat but didn’t dare. She only got mad with me, sometimes for days, and I only got all hot and bothered from moving, and further from escaping consciousness. Instead, I just lay there, thinking about all the things I was dreading about tomorrow, and all the ways in which it was going to be even worse without a good night’s sleep.
At work, I waded through treacle. Each sleepless night thickened the gloop that coated everything. Movement was slow and painful.
There was one meeting, or maybe it was several. They’re all stuck together in my mind like melted sweets. I was looking out of the window, watching the clouds drift by and wishing I could nestle into one and let it carry me away. The voices in the room were as distant and undefined as those clouds.
“… what’s the position on that, Mark? Mark!”
I shook my head. Pain rattled around my skull. The row of faces stared at me from the other side of the table, merging into one giant five-headed monster.
“Sorry, what?” I might have managed.
“The Marlborough account,” the monster slurred. “Do you have an update?”
That was the jolt I needed to seek help. If this continued, I’d lose my marriage and my job.
Walking into the insomnia support group was like climbing into a bed with crisp, lavender-scented sheets. Nerys, the group leader, spoke in a soft whisper. Her cardigan was duvet-cover floral.
“Help yourself to tea,” she said, gesturing to a table, where I poured hot water over a teabag and it hit the mug with a comforting yawn. Neil, Helen, Meg and Steve introduced themselves whilst I stirred in the milk, and instead of inducing a headache, the ringing of metal against china soothed me.
Soon we were sitting with steaming mugs in front of us, and we talked. Really talked. About what it’s like. About feeling trapped, going round and round a track, never reaching a finish line, getting dizzier and weaker, the world whizzing by, shapeless.
These were the first three-dimensional people I’d met in months. They had edges and their voices cut through the fog. I wanted to cling to them, these solid people in a blurry world.
When Nerys announced the end of the group, I jumped up to hug them all. I flung myself at Neil first, the biggest and strongest one, and closed my eyes in anticipation of his firm squeeze. I needed to feel the physical presence of their support.
But my arms flailed in the air. He was gone. They all were.
Had I fallen asleep or woken up? I couldn’t tell. Maybe they had fallen asleep and left me alone in this in-between place?
I curled up on the floor. I’d just wait here.
I’m still here. I think.
