Sleepless nights are rough. I didn’t drink caffeine. I didn’t eat anything weird. I didn’t watch scary TV and still........no sleep. I definitely had some thinking going on in the middle of the night. You can link up to the blog on my profile. #abandoned547#sleepless#friends#grandparents#grandson
💫 With the little amount of sleep we’ve been getting recently, whenever we do manage to get into our own bed, this has been sprayed liberally all over the pillows & sheets. There’s something very relaxing & cathartic about the scent that helps relax the brain & give a better sleep. The brand @thisworks do a lovely range so worth checking out if sleep is alluding you at the moment. I bought @avocaireland ❤️
Eurgh, insomnia. Hot, restless, clammy, itchy, damp, fucking-why-can’t-I-fucking-sleep, insomnia. I read somewhere that sleep is like an erection - the harder you think about it, the less likely it is to happen. How true that is. The more I want to sleep, the more I try, the more illusive it becomes. Sometimes I go a few hours before admitting to myself I’m not going to sleep; often it’s only a few minutes. “You’re so aware of sleeping”, my brain will say, “that there’s no chance you’re going to be able to do it”. And from that moment on, I’m stuffed. There’s no coming back. I’ve thought about it - I’m conscious of sleeping - and therefore I’ll never be able to do it. So I toss and turn; and get up; and try sleeping somewhere else; and try reading; and try listening to a podcast; and try writing; and try breathing; and try reading some more; and try tossing and turning again. I do this on repeat for hours and hours and hours. 1am becomes 2am, becomes 3:30am, becomes 4:15am. Eventually birds begin tweeting outside, rubbish trucks start zooming up the road, day slowly breaks and I blink my way into it - unrested, sore, knackered, sad. I fucking hate insomnia. And it’s always worst on Mondays.