Drunk With Fatigue




Are you reading this through bleary eyes as you desperately await the effect of a caffeine boost to kick start your weary self into life to endure another day? Perhaps you can vividly recall that drained sensation that haunted you and that nagging ache which was ever present behind your eyeballs? The need to close your eyes and slip into a deep and restful slumber. All you wanted to do was to close your eyes and allow the tiredness to evaporate and shrouded in the amnesiac qualities of sleep you would be given respite from the nightmare that enveloped you. Yet, you were never able to achieve that sleep. Your near permanent anxiety meant that as you lay in bed you were tensed, ready to respond to the next jibe or manipulation. You heard a click. Was that me exiting the study at long last and coming to the bedroom or was it just the house settling? You were hyper vigilant and you cannot now recall how long that state had existed but you did know that it caused a nightly battle where you tried to sleep but each sound made you twitch and ready yourself. Sometimes you must have fallen asleep, such was the extent of your exhaustion and you dreamed and then suddenly you awoke. What had happened? Why did you awake so suddenly? You twist and see me there lying fast asleep, unburdened by any concerns. Even now you want to reach out and touch me in the hope that my hand will be placed on your shoulder and then my arm will envelope you, making you feel safe and secure, like it once did. You have learned not to reach out though for the consequences of waking me from my rest are not worth experiencing again. Instead, your shaking hand retreated and you turned to look at the clock and you sighed with resignation as you realised that the fitful sleep you had endured was only about an hour in length.

You lay there, eyes stinging and head heavy giving thanks that it was not one of those nights where I repeatedly jabbed you in the back to stop you sleeping. How did I manage to do that and then bound from the bed refreshed and revitalised as you rose like a zombie? How had I been able to interrupt your sleep through the night by prodding you and yet I was energetic? Was I sleeping during the day like some vampire hiding from the sunlight? At least this time I am sleeping and you have been spared the intermittent prod in the small of your back. It is a small mercy since the questions and thoughts race around your mind, as they always do in the dead of night. Why is this happening? What has gone wrong? Why am I doing this? When will it end? How can you stop it? Should you ask me to talk about it or will that risk another argument? How much more can you take? When did you last sleep properly? These questions and more besides whirl around in your mind, having taken a hold in your head. Your eyes flick to the silent television set in the corner of the room and you debate watching something, anything, just to break the relentless churning in your skull, but even with the volume set at barely audible you know it will disturb me and then it will be your fault again.

You look to the door now closed. You managed to resist a lock being fitted to the bedroom door, wary of what further horrors might be unleashed against you if your exit was barred but each day you fear that on your return that you will see an invoice from a joiner on the kitchen table and a lock has been fitted. You ponder whether you should head downstairs and see if sleep will come on the sofa or at least you can put the headphones on and listen to a radio play or some music. That would provide some sanctuary but yet again, as if possessed of some sixth sense, you know that I will appear and demand to know what you are doing downstairs in the middle of the night. No matter how deeply I appear to be sleeping it as if I sense your absence and come looking for you. It is then that you face the accusations of texting some man behind my back even though your ‘phone is not to hand. It does not matter what the facts are does it? I always find a way of twisting the blame on to you. No, you cannot steal downstairs and instead you must remain board stiff in bed as your eyes watch the incessant march of time and sleep remains evasive. You can feel the hammering of your heart in your chest. Even though nothing is happening and all is quiet and still, that sense of foreboding remains. A cold hand of dread has gripped your heart and squeezes, driving the breath from your body and causing anxiety to spread across you. Perhaps you ought to see the doctor and see if he will prescribe something for this? You will need to do it without my knowledge otherwise I shall accuse you of attention-seeking by going to the doctor without consulting me first. I, of course, know what is best for you and I screen everything you do before determining whether I shall allow it. You know you ought to fight against it but you are so tired, so weary and you need what little strength remains to help you navigate a way throughout the day without treading on a mine and causing an explosion of fury. It is getting harder. You forget things now. Your memory used to be excellent or at least you think it did. Even thinking is becoming arduous and sometimes you just sit, staring into space, caught somewhere between wakefulness and hypnosis. If only one night of rest could come, if only this anxiety, this fear, this wariness would leave you and let you gain some strength, then you would not make the mistakes and I would not be angry. Perhaps then we could be as we used to be. You can still remember that and hope with all your heart that somehow this situation can be retrieved. You never felt tired then. You never walked with a shuffle or placed the milk in the dishwasher in error. You did not forget you were baking something until the acrid smell of smoke jolted you from your daydreaming and had you running into the kitchen, cursing your foolishness and immediately wondering if you could cook a fresh batch before I came home and witnessed another of your failures.

The clock shows 5am and sleep has evaded you once more. The dull throb in the centre of your forehead remains. You would have to be up in an hour anyway. There is no point trying to sleep now. You can see the first rind of dawn trying to permeate through the curtains and another day has arrived. You may as well rise and weave through this day, whichever day it is, is it Wednesday or Thursday? You cannot quite remember. You slide your feet from the bed and sit up, glancing at me over your shoulder, back now turned to you, my body rising and falling in a steady rhythm as I sleep on, oblivious to your exhaustion. You stand and sway a little as you ready yourself for another day of feeling drunk with fatigue.

Listen to Drunk With Fatigue


16 thoughts on “Drunk With Fatigue

  1. Mary Robinson says:

    Pati unfortunatey I don’t mince words with this man. No means no.

    1. Pati says:

      Good for you!

  2. Pati says:

    The only way I get to sleep these days is putting my headphones on and either listening to music or HG’s videos . I cant sleep I feel restless. I feel hoarded by him lately. He makes so much noise on purpose so he will get my attention. I just ignore him hopefully he can go away like a fly on the wall.

    1. Kim e says:

      Keep wishing that he flies away. I believe HG gives a FLYSWATTER with every angel assist! (subtle huh?)

      1. Pati says:

        Yes Kim !

    2. Mary Robinson says:

      Ya, it’s so peaceful laying in bed with my cat Sarah. He keeps coming up, for what I’m not sure.

      1. Pati says:

        Animals sense our feelings.

        1. Mary Robinson says:

          Yes Pati, Sarah will greet him,but sticks with me.I found out he wanted sex. He waited till I was asleep to initiate it. GROSS. You know how that went. I ended up wounding him with words.I had a drs appointment the next morning and strangely my alarm didn’t sound.

          1. Mary Robinson says:

            Still made it though. The alarm in m

          2. Pati says:

            I would tell him either I am on my period, or I have a yeast infection lol ,sorry about the graphics .

  3. kaydiva3 says:

    HG, you’ve mentioned that you don’t need much sleep. That’s partly how you’re able to get so much done. Is it common for narcissists not to need as much sleep as other people? It would make sense, as your energy isn’t drained by empathy.

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Some, not all.

  4. SMH says:

    This describes by exHL perfectly, even to the point of him jabbing me in the middle of the night, sighing loudly if I happened to roll over, coming into the living room and accusing me of waking him from another room, etc. I FINALLY asked myself, ‘why shouldn’t I be able to sleep in MY OWN bed?’ and kicked him out of the room for good. He still couldn’t sleep, even in the other room, but he couldn’t blame me for his sleep problems anymore either.

  5. kaydiva3 says:

    Yep. My MMRN kept me sleep deprived for months. It was insidious, at first I didn’t realize he was doing it. But I started to gradually lose my health and sanity, and he discarded me when I was at my lowest.

  6. NarcAngel says:

    I know most will identify with this as the intimate partner, but it also reminds me of being denied sleep as a child. Waiting to hear the car in the drive after he’s been out for a few, then listening to his entrance for clues to determine if he will have had a good night and want sleep, or if he will have been ignored, insulted, or wounded and now need argument and violence to satisfy him. It will all hinge on my mother as she must be up to serve him something to eat when he returns no matter the time. I will listen intently to see if I will be required to intervene or to comfort the little ones. Whether he chooses sleep or violence I will be bleary eyed and tired tomorrow when I rise to deliver my newspapers before I go to school. Looking back, I don’t know how I did it. It exhausts me now just thinking of it.

    1. Mary Robinson says:

      History does repeat itself. Now I am looking back at my childhood.

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