I Can't Sleep: The gripping psychological thriller that will keep you awake at night. by J.E. Rowney

Author:J.E. Rowney [Rowney, J.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: psychological, thriller, LGBT, suspense
Published: 2020-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Some days I’m too exhausted to do anything. The darkness of night melts into the watercolour grey of day, and I stay in my bed. I get up when I need to. I make some food, take a piss, get a drink, go back to bed. I can go on for so long, just ticking over, but eventually, I crash. I have to take a Me Day. I need that time out. If you don’t take those days for yourself, I recommend it. Even if you sleep like a baby, be good to yourself. Make time for yourself.

I never really got that saying. Sleep like a baby. As far as I know, babies sleep for four hours, maximum, and spend the rest of their time wailing or feeding. I’d be happy with four hours. I’d be ecstatic.

When the insomnia first started, I used to have to fill in a ‘Sleep Journal’. My psychiatrist, Doctor Balliol, asked me to log all the hours (ha!) that I slept, and rate the quality of the sleep. Have you ever thought about the quality of your sleep before? No. You take it for granted. I know. I did too. What is quality sleep? Now, it’s anything longer than the sharp little snatches that I snap in and out of. An hour feels like a luxury now.

There are a few problems with maintaining a sleep journal when you’re an insomniac. Obviously, I do have the micro-sleeps that keep me alive. For the most part though, I’m not aware of them. Sometimes they are like a long blink, or at least that’s how I experience them. If I haven’t been aware of the time when I drop off, I’m not even certain how long they have been. I mean, I know I’m not sleeping for like five hours or whatever, but sometimes I couldn’t tell you if it’s been five seconds or five minutes. It’s extremely disorientating.

When I was writing in the journal, I asked my mum to observe me, and to keep the log for me. She couldn’t do it all the time, of course. She didn’t follow me around all day, she wasn’t with me at school. To be honest I was only ever at school or at home after Jordan died.

I didn’t have Jordan.

I didn’t have Mischa.

I didn’t have any reason to leave the house apart from classes.

I thought I was sleeping maybe once or twice a day, for ten, twenty minutes tops. Mum logged two hours’ worth of micro-sleeps over a twenty-four-hour period. That’s not a lot, granted, but all those little snatches added up to far more than I imagined. I expect that now I probably get four hours minimum over the twenty-four-hour period, but I wouldn’t call it sleep.

We heal when we sleep, we grow when we sleep. Our brains need sleep to power down, store memories, get their shit together. No sleep, no chance to do that. This is why I’m so ditsy. I’m literally scatterbrained. My little neurons are trying so hard, but they don’t stand a chance.

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