I awake in darkness and look at my phone on my bedside cabinet. It's 2.04 a.m. I have been in a fitful sleep for maybe two hours at best.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I wonder how many hours of sleep you can have and still function. My thoughts turn to an article about a man who only has two hours of sleep every night. Maybe he doesn't have a family. Perhaps he is not on these stupid tablets. He is probably a ‘normal’ person who just gets through life without the need for chemical enhancement. Who writes these news stories anyway? Perhaps I should give one a try entitled ‘I don't survive on any hours sleep: The diary of a depressed middle-aged fat man’. Maybe it needs to be more snappy than that. Still, I might earn $1.68 on Medium.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I never had a mind like this before the doctor prescribed these tablets and then gradually increased them, with each desperate phone call. I wonder what the recommended dose is and grab my phone. I squint as the phone’s light rudely breaks through the darkness. Its not good for me to look at my phone at night, everybody says so. It feels bad for me now, basking my face and hands with the acidic blue light of Facebook. I switch to Google and search for the maximum dose, settling for the authority of Wikipedia. Turns out I am on the top dose permitted. My eyes settle on one sentence: ‘It is not known how they work, but it is suspected that they….’. I quickly lock my phone, and the light fades away chastened. I am in darkness once more.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
In what world do they give out tablets, knowing that they do not have a clue how they work? It's scary. I start to wonder if I should stop taking my antidepressants. I could perhaps cut down slowly and be rid of this racing mind. For some reason, it only happens at night. The daytime has enough distractions to keep me awake. Surely, sleep is important. The last doctor I spoke to said that I needed more sleep. No shit, I thought. I asked for sleeping tablets, and he said that giving tablets to counter other tablets' side effects was a bad thing. I now consider suggesting to him that maybe giving tablets without knowing how they work is a bad thing.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
It's no good. I won’t sleep unless I get this thought out of my head. I grab my phone again, and the light returns triumphantly. I google my antidepressant and add the word ‘mumsnet’ to it. I am neither a mum nor female, but for some reason, the forum on mumsnet.com is full of people on antidepressants offering their experiences of it. It seems a lot of people have had some awful experiences cutting down or coming off my tablets. The doctor never said this to me when he prescribed them, the bastard. I scroll and read the horror stories. Not one person has had a good experience, but I am not looking for that. I am looking for the horror stories. My eyes feel heavy. Perhaps sleep is coming. I quickly switch off my phone.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind. I look at the time—it’s 3:35 a.m.
In about four hours, the house will begin to stir. The light will start filtering in, and the dogs will begin barking in anticipation of their morning routine. The teenagers of the house will roll over without looking at the time, safe in the knowledge that we will shout at them until they appear. I wonder what happens in this house when we are all asleep. It's strange to think that in the darkness, the house and all its contents do nothing. Everything seems to stop. Maybe there is a whole world we cannot see that goes about its day. Perhaps it is a different realm undetectable to humans, people coming and going without knowing we are asleep next to them. Undetectable is a big word to use at… I check the time... it’s 4.15am.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I awake with a start. Sleep happened! I look at the time, it’s 5.45am. This confirms that I have been asleep, or have I? The house is no longer dark, it is just a bit murky, and I can hear sounds of movement outside. I am sure I must have been asleep as I don't remember thinking anything for a while. Either way, being without the racing mind for a short time feels like a relief. It will soon be time to get up, but I could fit in another hour of sleep.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I wonder if I should get up now as it might make me more tired if I sleep again for a short time. I will soon need to take my next dose of antidepressants. I wonder if I should start reducing my dose from today but then dismiss it quickly. I don't want to have withdrawal symptoms on top of being tired. I try to think back to a time when I was not tired. Depression is all-encompassing. I cannot remember a time when I have lived without its presence. It’s like an itchy, hot duvet that has smothered me in varying degrees throughout my whole life. The tablets lift that duvet just a little bit. Maybe they are not so bad. Perhaps I need to take more. I have heard that doctors can prescribe more than the recommended dosage.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I like the idea of doctors going rogue on dosage. I imagine my doctor looking up the maximum dose on his shitty NHS laptop and laughing before turning to me and saying, ‘bollocks to that, let's double up’. Maybe that kind of thing is reserved for severe depression. What do those people do at night? Do Ihave severe depression? I am not sure that doctors ever say bollocks, though. Maybe they do it in private. I imagine my doctor going home to his wife and her asking him what kind of a day he has had. ‘bollocks,’ he replies, as he puts his shitty laptop on charge.
I roll over and try to forget my racing mind.
I look at the time—it's 6.30 a.m. It's time to get up now anyway. The house is cold as if it has been purified overnight. I welcome it. Daytime is so much easier than night. In about fifteen hours, I will be back in this bed.
‘Bollocks indeed’, I say as I open my packet of antidepressants and take my usual dose.
Paul Clarke is a writer and has written two books, one about his struggles with Long Covid and a novella. He also hosts a podcast which focuses on how it feels to live with a chronic illness.
This made me cry.