The Big Sleep

It wasn't all too long ago that the thought of sleeping alone presented me with a palpable anxiety. Growing up with doting grandparents and a small house, I had spent most of my childhood sleeping with other people in the room, to the sounds of late night Chinese television blaring. It wasn't till I was 13 that I really tried sleeping in a room alone, and even that was briefly ruined when I got dragged to watch Ju-On one day by a friend.

When I was Christoph, we spent almost every alternating night asleep together. Last academic year he had a nice double bed in his flat in Elephant and Castle, and this year I had the double bed at my place. I hated his pillows, which were really soft. In turn he said I was a blanket stealer. As this year rolled about, we eventually drifted to separate blankets. He preferred the super-warm-but-better-quality-Marks-and-Spencer single quilt, and I was happy with my crappy-but-large-and-enveloping-Argos-Value double quilt. I had my awesome and cheap £5 for 2 hollowfibre pillows from Marks and Spencer too. We were happy. He slept like an unmovable rock and I rolled about on my side of the bed.

The nights he didn't spend next to me however, I slept badly. I'd have trouble falling to sleep, because I missed his presence. I missed being able to reach out and touch him. Missed listening to his soft snoring. I'd think and think, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, about the daunting future and feel anxious. Having him around reassured me, somehow, that as long as he was here things'd be okay. I'd stay up later than usual as a result.

But of course it wasn't all unicorns and double rainbows. There were nights where despite him being there, I'd be unable to sleep. I'd still toss and turn, except now I'd be afraid to do so in case I woke him up. Then there was one very bad memory where one night, we both had trouble sleeping and just as he'd fallen to sleep, I'd woken him up. After he got frustrated and told me he was awake, I went to the kitchen and cried as he went to sleep. I didn't sleep at all that night and ended up having a nervous breakdown. Sometimes if I wanted to sleep early, and he wanted to sleep late, we'd be forced to compromise. Other times were more normal, where I'd get frustrated at him being able to sleep so soundly next to me as I did the insomniac's march (bed-toilet-bed every 10 minutes), and feel alone in my misery. Not that I wanted him to be unable to sleep too, it's just that him being able to sleep so soundly felt mocking.

Then one day he left and I suddenly had a double bed all to myself. I ended up using it as a dumping ground for my once-worn clothes. Books. Newspapers. Sometimes files and papers. Stuffed toys. Sometimes I'd lose things in the mess. At night I cuddled with my clutter. It felt strange in a way, like a smaller person occupying the bed with me. I started to regain control of my sleep, relearning how to sleep alone and on my own terms. I started to forget what it was like sharing a bed with another person.

And then one fine day, Rajan came into my life, and I found myself (albeit briefly) sharing a bed again. In what I found surprising more than anything else, although I initially welcomed the idea of falling in love again (HAHAHA MISTAKE), I began to resent the idea of sharing my bed with someone else after all the freedom I had been accorded.

First there were all the idiosyncrasies: no outside clothes on bedsheets/lying on the quilt top with outside clothes is ok/but then how do you tell someone this nicely? Then my sleep times were horribly wrecked, as I finally met someone who had worse insomnia than me, and I compromised by sleeping ever-so-late even though I was so tired. Even my stuffed toys weren't spared, as Rajan picked them up and tossed them around the room, probably deeming them amusing. It also turned out that Rajan was a tosser and turner in bed too, just like me. On my cheap bed, I could feel the bed move every time he turned. Which was often. ARGH.

Then came the blanket problem. Being with Christoph and then myself for the past few months had spoiled me into not sharing a blanket. Sharing a blanket (now that it was Summer and I had no other thin quilts) felt downright uncomfortable. All I wanted to do was wrap myself up in a blanket and I couldn't do it anymore because there was someone else in the bed. Plus I was quite sure I was still a blanket stealer in my sleep.

The mornings felt strange too as I rolled about to see someone next to me. I had gotten used to waking up slowly in the mornings with sunlight and a book. Now when I woke up I couldn't open the curtains, and had to deal with another not-morning-person even though I wasn't a morning person either. Rajan brought a whole new set of things to get used to, a whole new lot of things to compromise on.

As today rolls around, I realise it's been almost exactly a month since I've last slept next to someone, and in my strange way I revel in that fact. I loved it when someone slept next to me, but now I can sleep as late or as early as I want, and wake up however I want without worrying about the person next to me. I can wrap my blanket around me, or kick it off as I sleep if it gets too warm without fear of any repercussions. I can turn on my side as many times and as often as I want, punch my pillow into a good shape and sprawl all over the bed. The bed is mine, and mine alone. Phew.