You tired? Me, too...

One of the most difficult things in in my life is conveying to selected others how wretched this sleep disorder makes me feel. The next most difficult thing is trying not to let its effects show, which usually applies in work situations. Sometimes I succeed.

It's not just feeling tired.
It's not something that a couple of good nights' sleep will solve.
Its not something you can relax out of.

It is debilitating. It is depleting. It is distressing. It is frustrating. It is hellish. It is all-encompassing and touches every area of your life. Sometimes life is such a strain that you wonder what the point is. You are a walking zombie. You are lucky that car drivers are more alert than you are. You cry on the way to work. Kindness can make you melt or make you rigid.

You have no capacity, no resources, no buffers, no energy to cope with everyday things. (But you do, somehow.) You want to scream. Exercise – kung fu – makes me sleep, but ironically, when uber-tired, I am so mentally absent that I feel I don't get much out of it bar more frustration and the fear that I probably hold up the rest of the class with my half-hearted, half-remembered moves.

Insomnia is – I am realising more and more – a condition that deserves more respect and treatment than most people deign to give it. Including my GP, who told me that just lying there would be OK. The fucking, fucking, fucking, smug idiot. "Lying there and resting gives you 80-90 per cent of what you get through sleep. Don't worry about it."

Fuck off. I feel like death warmed up, have nearly crashed my car, and you tell me, doctor, not to fucking worry? ARGH. And don't lie to me. I am not an idiot. I have a degree in psychology, and yes, I know a bit about sleep. Do not fob me off. You fuckwit. Sometimes the NHS stinks.

I do not tell people about the sleep problem indiscriminately. I try to be discerning and only do so when necessary – such as to explain why I am not drinking alcohol – at a party a few months ago.

Sometimes, apropos of nothing, I just click with someone and feel able to share the experience. Those in this second category do seem to genuinely understand and care, which shocks and delights me, making me want to hug them.

The others tend to do one of the following:

a) tell me how tired they are (I have no words to adequately describe how incredibly maddening and insulting this is).
b) look pseudo-sympathetic but give the impression that you are somehow wimpish. This is usually accompanied by them changing the subject or looking over your shoulder, as happened at a couple of events earlier this summer. Those incidents put me off socialising with certain people for the time being at least. I cannot be arsed.
c) offer solutions such as "drink chamomile tea" (hmm, yes, never tried that one)... but at least the category 'c' people are trying to help, which is refreshing.

I can't – and don't – expect those who haven't suffered from insomnia to know what it's like. How could they? I wouldn't wish insomnia on anyone, (except perhaps the woman who shafted me and slandered me at work at Easter). But I do expect grown-up humans to have enough nous to not say trite things and to at least acknowledge that not sleeping well for months... years... might be bad news.

S's birthday meal, which was meant to be at a restaurant that I booked months ago, was cancelled and converted to having pizza in the spare bedroom. It is an attic room with a wide view of the sky. I must admit I was grateful to not have to dress up and trek to Piccadilly, knowing that my curfew loomed and that wine was a no-no. It wouldn't have been much fun for either of us, and S, who has seen me insane with tiredness this week, didn't mind at all. Having pizza delivered and doing nothing except watch the sky with the radio on in the background, was a godsend. Being out with me semi-comatose would have been such fun...

Earlier, I had spent most of the afternoon clearing out my two wardrobes of clothes I haven't worn for a while, then lay on the bed upstairs, unable to move. I took painkillers as my body ached so much. I tried not to sleep (the radio was on, to keep me awake) but suspect I may have lapsed into a micro-sleep. If I did indeed commit a sleep programme sin, it couldn't have been terribly deep as I still felt drained when S came into the room and mooted the pizza/sky-watching plan.