Galloping horses

When you want to sleep, but your mind has other ideas.

It’s the middle of the night, black as treacle, and my mind is running like galloping horses.

Just moments ago, I was struggling through a succession of scenes in an exhausting high-action dream, the details of which are now irretrievable. Maybe tomorrow night, as I fall asleep, the dream will flood back and I’ll pick up the relentless chasing where I left off. My brain does that sometimes, with unfinished business. But right now, in the foggy aftermath of the dream, it goes looking for real problems to deal with; money, work, health, children, global politics, environmental disaster, existential dread. It rounds up a herd of skittish fears that are snorting hot breath in my face and pawing at my chest in the dark. Jostling against each other for priority, one fear rears up in panic, and bolts. The others, spooked, follow, and now here we are, racing.

Heart thumping, I’m suddenly hot and stuffy under the duvet. I flip my leg out for some air, and my skin instantly feels uncomfortably cold, so I snatch it back in. I’m awake enough now to know that I’m not going back to sleep quickly. I fidget. My body clock and the silence on the road outside tell me the time is somewhere around three. I tap my phone screen: 03:04am. Impressive. I need the loo, but I put off going, knowing that getting out of bed will shake any final residue of sleep from my bones.

I know the drill. Go to the toolbox of techniques to try and get the horses under control. Breathing first. Focus on the inhale–hold–exhale–hold–inhale–hold–exhale. The galloping slows to a canter. The anxiety is isolated to my chest as my limbs soften. But I can’t sustain it for more than a few rounds, can’t hold the horses back. Their eyes roll, looking for unseen fears they know are lurking nearby in the dark. They are too powerful, they don’t want to listen, they break away from me.

I try something else, something my mum taught me when I was very little and complained of not being able to sleep, of being scared of the dark. Coaxing my body back to sleep bit by bit, from the bottom up. The idea is to fall asleep before you get to the top. Feet, relax, and go to sleep. Ankles, relax, and go to sleep. Lower leg, relax, and go to sleep. Knees, then thighs, I get to pelvis but I start to feel twitchy and itchy, and my lower back aches and I have to roll over and now I’ll have to start again, what’s the point?

I plan. Make mental lists. Think about myself lying here in this bed, trying to sleep. Watch myself in my mind’s eye. Turn my pillow over to the cool side, tidy my hair. Listen to a car sweep by. Try the breathing again. Get distracted again. Tap the phone. 04:36am. My alarm goes off in under ninety minutes, making me feel even more stressed. The horses gallop. A bird wakes and sings optimistically.

Finally, I give up, concluding that there is only one way to drown out the thundering of the hooves, and that is to run with them. I swing my legs out of bed, pull on a hoodie, and go downstairs to write.