Self experience on Insomnia by Tessa Dunlop

How did Margaret Thatcher do it? Not her politics – I mean her legendary ability to survive on less than four hours’ sleep a night. Forget running the country, I can’t do anything effectively without a good night’s sleep which, given I’m an insomniac, is a problem.

Sometimes it feels like a catastrophe. My husband finds my insomnia so tiring that he has moved to the spare room. I’ve tried explaining what I need is sympathy but only other insomniacs understand how lonely and frustrating wakeful nights are.It is no coincidence sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture.According to psychologists, a lack of sleep leads to mood swings, reduced mental agility and slurred speech. And no one wants to be told they look tired. None of which is reassuring if you’re awake, exhausted but unable to switch off, in the middle of the night.Statistics suggest that as many as one in three of us will have experienced insomnia in the previous year, and as many as one in ten will experience the chronic form.Typical causes include stress and anxiety, physical pain, depression, noise, medication, and the overuse of such stimulants as alcohol, caffeine and nicotine.

Never a great sleeper, for me things got bad after a life-changing series of events. My father died, I had my first child and the recession bit all within 12 months. The doctor prescribed sleeping pills.

But that was more than two years ago; my daughter Mara is not a baby anymore, my finances are back on track and while I miss Dad, the grief’s manageable.So why do I rarely get more than three or four hours a night?I asked my GP, who decided I was allowed only seven more sleeping pills – ‘for emergencies’ – saying: ‘Tessa, your body will forget how to go to sleep on its own if you’re not careful.’What did he recommend instead of popping zopiclone, one of the most widely prescribed sedatives in Britain? Light exercise, no caffeine after 4pm, and no smoking or alcohol. Given one in 20 of us at some point resort to prescription sleeping pills, I was surprised there weren’t more alternatives available, and as a non-smoking regular cyclist who no longer dares drink caffeine after midday, I felt desperate.That night, reduced to cutting one of my sleeping pills in half, I decided to take action. I set about putting the various natural methods of curing insomnia to the test.I began with the NHS ‘sleep-hygiene’ advice which recommends preserving your bedroom as a sleep sanctuary. Cue nightly clean sheets (to create an inviting atmosphere at bedtime), a new pillow, no more writing or eating in bed. The laptop and alarm clock are banished. It also recommends fixed times for going to bed and waking up, to avoid exercise within four hours of bedtime and not to eat a heavy meal late.That night I got six hours’ kip. I woke in a blind panic I’d overslept. With time, however, my body adjusted to its clean, minimalist surroundings and soon I was awake, in the dark, wondering what the time was. Mum, from her rural Scottish home, decided my insomnia was London’s fault. ‘No wonder you can’t sleep in that noisy city!’ she said. So I bought a white noise machine, for £59.99, which promised to ‘block out disturbance so you can live and sleep in peace’.The size of a pudding bowl and considerably heavier, it makes a sound similar to a small Hoover. It took some getting used to but it does cover traffic noise, and I no longer hear Mara wake up in the morning so my husband does the first potty run. But while I now struggle to sleep without it, I often don’t manage to fall asleep with it. Nicola Hall, chairman of the British Reflexology Association, said the solution might be in my feet. I struggled with the idea of my toes being in some way responsible for my brain’s functions but her foot massage was very relaxing during the £60 session.  She worked on my big toes hoping they might persuade my brain to release more melatonin. That afternoon I fell asleep in the library. But the following night I pinged awake at 3am and the second session had no effect.My doctor doesn’t believe in homeopathy but suggested it might have a placebo effect. To counter his cynicism I found a GP who was also a homeopath. Eric Asher, who charges £75 per consultation, didn’t take short cuts – I was weighed, measured, had my blood pressure taken and even peed into a pot. Then I was interviewed and given two homeopathic remedies.A fortnight later, sleep still elusive, sucking on a homeopathic pill, I decided it tasted sugary. I spent the next hour wondering if I should get up and reclean my teeth. Six weeks passed and there was no discernable difference in my sleep. For homeopathy to work maybe you need to be a true believer. Dr Zenobia Zaiwalla, a neurophysiologist at the Sleep Clinic in Oxford’s John Radcliffe Hospital, explained the principles behind Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for psycho-physiological insomnia – which is what I, along with 70 per cent of all insomniacs, have. We can’t stop our brains racing so our minds keep us awake.Her tips included restricting time spent in bed awake. If I hadn’t got to sleep after 20 minutes I should get up. I duly did and hot milk at 3am is now a regular fixture. She also recommended relaxation tapes, not at night when the pressure’s on to sleep, but during the day so I learn what it feels like to relax.

The most listened-to app on my phone is now Deep Sleep with Andrew Johnson, costing £1.79. His Scottish burr lulls me into a daylight stupor. Sometimes I break the rules and take him to bed with me.I’m in a slow recovery process. With this in mind I take one last foray into the world of alternative therapies and book a meditation class at the Maharishi Foundation (packages start at £190). Mum laughed at the idea but I found it simple. I repeat a ‘mantra’ (a two-syllable word), close my eyes, sit upright and let it be. It feels nice, even relaxing. I’ve started doing it daily. And that’s before I get into my clean bed, switch on my sound machine, listen to my app, don’t think about sleep and get up for hot milk before I try to go to sleep again.

Curing long-term insomnia doesn’t happen overnight, but it’s been three months now and I still have six of those zopiclone in my top drawer.
Source;Mail Online