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  • Writer's pictureDearbhla

The Levitating Circus

Ah, the levitating circus. My brain has been taken over by The Numskulls as spontaneous spasms mean endless sleepless nights.

Having had a relapse after my not-so-zen yoga retreat to Portugal, my body feels as if I have suddenly been catapulted to my childhood and I am now stuck inside a comic strip. Less Jumanji thankfully, more Beano. My brain now operated by The Numskulls as random parts of my body flail at irritatingly inconvenient times, like when I am trying to sleep. It feels as if these fiesty little cartoon technicians are fighting over the maintenance of my body and mind. I imagine them scrambling over my central control system, falling asleep on the job, hitting wrong buttons, inadvertently causing spontaneous spasms. Childhood nostalgia should in theory be a fun time travelling experience, ice-cream vans, amusement parks, sea swimming. Or if you're Teresa May, “running through wheat fields”.

What is decidedly unfun is when the bottom half of my body decides to re-enact the plot of the exorcist at 2am every night. So, naturally, I am blaming The Numskulls. It’s particularly un-fun when I am forced to get out of bed and shower my legs in what is basically sub-zero temperature water (sadly only mild exaggeration) to eradicate the spasms. This is then followed by the frantic dash back to bed. I then squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think of the proverbial elephant. I have found that trying to make oneself fall asleep on a time limit results in exactly the opposite effect. The panicked sleep race inevitably ensures that I am a) cold from the shower and b) thinking about the time it’s going to take before my leg starts doing a Michael Flatley again.

It’s nothing if not regular. Three hours after I go to sleep I get rudely awaken by a creeping sensation running down my head to my feet.

There’s a hideous inevitability about it, like Brexit.

My body has turned into a horror movie. A distinct sinking feeling envelops me and then the tremors commence for a night’s entertainment. I have never felt more like the girl from the Ring as I creep slowly from the shower back to bed, my eyes pissholes in the snow. I certainly resemble a swamp monster after weeks of intermittent sleep. This whole sleep cycle is particularly enervating when you need sleep to improve symptoms but the symptoms are preventing you from sleeping. It’s the cruellest game of catch 22. I also now have sinusitis (clearly 'Nosey's fault) which threw my body further out of whack. For this, on top of all the other medication, I am now also on antibiotics.

So begins the slow metamorphosis from functioning human to poly pharmacy...


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