What tiredness teaches.

Sorry if I drift into being a bit tetchy during this post.


I haven’t slept for a year


Well no, I have a bit, obviously.


Our nine month old wakes every 40 minutes, if she sleeps at all.


And Clarke has been known to snore like a freight train on it’s last legs.


So there you have it, sleep is a rare commodity around these parts.


I’ve always been a terrible sleeper. I was an insomniac child, and never really improved from there.


Unless I’m pregnant, then I can sleep like a good ’un.


Unfortunately, this is not a sustainable life choice.


So I’m back to being the worlds crappiest sleeper, once again.


l worked nights at a TV channel for 18 months.


And it was there that I accidentally discovered my optimal sleep time.


It's in the morning, from 8am onwards.


Which is absolutely ridiculous. Not to mention totally unsustainable in most careers.

Nevertheless, it’s good information to have.


And if we ever retire, it will be the first thing I do. Sleep. Every damn morning.


I usually get three hours in the morning right now, after being up with Baby Carlisle.


It won’t last forever. But it’s enough to keep me going right now.


Just about.


The sleep-deprived brain is an unnerving thing.


It cannot make proper sense of the world, but it doesn’t know that.


Because it doesn’t know it is tired.


I'm never going to claim that I understand severe depression or suicidal thoughts.


I don’t. I can’t. I’ve never been there.

In fact, the only real insight I have into either of these states is that I really can’t tell how tired I am right now.


Case in point: this blog post. To me it’s spot on.


But I know it’s riddled with spelling errors and incomplete sentences that I literally cannot see.


Because I’m so tired.


And Clarke is going to have to check it over, then translate what my exhausted brain is trying to say, before its published for you to read.


I can feel my physical tiredness.


l am aware it exists.


And it makes logical sense that it would be so.


But my brain still doesn’t understand how many mistakes I’m making.


Nor does it realise I am being moody or irritable.


It just thinks I’m surrounded by absolute eejits.


(Thats not a typo, Clarke, I meant to say eejits. Also I didn’t mean you. You are not an eejit. Okay love you, bye.)


One day I will get a nights sleep.


And I wonder if, when I do, I’ll be able to look back at this time with proper clarity.


If I’ll know that the world wasn’t quite as weird as it seems right now.


I'm grateful for the insight it’s given me into the sheer duplicity of a brain in depression.


That's for sure.


[Editor's note: 17 corrections]













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