I have been a sleepwalker for as long as I can remember.
As a child, I would regularly wake up in different rooms to the one I went to sleep in. I’d have to be restrained from wandering out of the house by a panicked parent; or be shaken awake by a confused sibling who had no idea what I was doing in their bedroom, babbling nonsense. Sleepwalking – or, to give it its fancy name, somnambulism – is incredibly common in children.
In fact, about a third of kids will sleepwalk at some point and doctors can confidently reassure worried parents that this is all perfectly normal and that their little darling will almost certainly grow out of it. It’s just a phase, nothing to worry about, etc. Hardly any children continue sleepwalking into adulthood – only about one per cent, in fact. At which point, you will doubtless breathe a huge sigh of relief.
Unless, of course, you are the one per cent. I never grew out of my bizarre nocturnal activities. And over the years, I have done some truly strange things in my sleep.
I have left the house and woken up in my car, with the keys in the ignition. I have torn posters off walls, ripped up books, phoned people at 2am talking crap, and got into bed with bemused housemates. I once punched a boyfriend because I was dreaming that an alien facehugger was trying to kill him. He wasn’t as appreciative of my actions as I thought he would be. And then there is the endless talking, shouting, screaming, and general nighttime noisiness. It’s like sleeping next to a rooster. No wonder I’m single.
The worst thing about all of this is that I have no control over it, and almost no memory of doing it. I was more aware of my sleepwalking when I lived with either flatmates or boyfriends, because I would disturb them – but now I live alone, the only way I know I’ve been going off again is the evidence I findwhen I wake up. Any poltergeist would be wasting their time trying to haunt me – because waking up to find the room has been rearranged is pretty standard, as far as I’m concerned. Waking up in the middle of the night to find taps running, the television blaring and all the kitchen cabinets being open, would barely register as unusual.
The American Psychiatric Association classifies sleepwalking as a mental illness if the events cause “clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational or other important areas of functioning”. Well, I guess I am mentally ill, because my sleep alter ego does cause “impairment” in social functioning; namely, I absolutely cannot spend the night in any kind of hookup situation.
I’m not about to explain to some 28-year-old I met on Tinder that they might want to lock the doors and hide the pointy objects. Likewise, I can’t have anyone stay the night at mine, either; so I have to ask gentleman callers to sling their hook once the entertainment portion of the evening has ended. If you can think of a polite way to do this, please do let me know, because I haven’t cracked it.
“Why don’t I just tell them that Sleep Kate might break loose and run amok?” Experience, dear reader. I know they will say, “it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it,” etc., because they are imagining cute, slumbered stirrings, like a puppy dreaming about a chew toy. They are not foreseeing chasing me around the flat like a greyhound going after a screaming ferret. I’d rather they thought of me as a bitch, than a maniac.
Because that’s the second worst thing about being a habitual sleepwalker – it’s creepy! It is! It freaks people out. Sleepwalking is a stock staple in horror movies and ghost stories, and for good reason – it’s weird! It taps into really primal fears about not being in control of our own bodies. People don’t like it. And don’t tell me it’s all normal and not unsettling at all, because I have years of experience of frightening people. I have seen the terror in their eyes, and I understand why it’s so uncanny valley.
The glazed eyes, the blank expression, the flat voice talking nonsense… I am awake but not awake. Someone else is at the controls – and it’s not me. The lights are on, but nobody’s home. Then, there’s the assumption I must be doing this because of some deep-seated psychological trauma – but that’s not true. I’m just a nighttime oddball. I come from a long line of sleepwalkers, on my dad’s side. When we all get together at Christmas, my poor mother can be found late at night, running around with a giant butterfly net, trying to wrangle everyone back to their rooms. She has resorted to putting bells on everyone’s doors, so she can hear if any of us have broken loose.
Research has shown that sleepwalking does indeed have a strong genetic component. It’s also been found to be very common in people with ADHD, which runs through my paternal family like a rash (not that this is of much comfort to my poor mother, after another night of disturbed sleep). Sleepwalking happens when your brain gets “stuck” between deep sleep and being awake. The conscious mind is snoozing, but the body is up and doing. No one is quite sure what causes this to happen – and subsequently, there is no treatment available. All you can do is try to mitigate the situation.
For example, when I am staying in a hotel, I never ever sleep naked and always have a copy of the room key in my pocket. Waking up completely nude in the hallway of a Travelodge taught me that one. If my nocturnal wanderings were caused by some kind of psychological issue, then therapy could help, but it’s not. So, all I can do is batten down the hatches and hide the breakables.
I do find all of this incredibly embarrassing. I mean, really! What kind of sensible adult has to lock medication away from themselves? Or refuse a hotel with a window that fully opens? I find it excruciating to have to explain to anyone who may share a sleeping space with me that I might put on a show for them. Or, hearing about whatever weirdness I got up to, during the night.
I would absolutely love to get rid of this, but nothing has worked so far. I’ve tried hypnosis, acupuncture, regular exercise, turning off screens an hour before I want to go to sleep – and all manner of herbal supplements. None of it has made any difference.
All I can do is look to the positives: because it could be worse. I’ve never had sleep paralysis or night terrors and am extremely grateful for that. Whatever I am up to, I am rarely scared. I also orgasm a lot in my sleep, and that’s always fun – so perhaps I should view that as the consolation prize for occasionally pissing in the cupboard.
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