Eva Bradley: Insomnia not greatest bed mate at 2am

It is a curious condition of humanity that we always want what we can't have, and at 2am today, after counting about a million sheep before swapping to cows, I had time to think about this.
Sleep, like feijoas and watermelon in season, is one of those things that is enjoyed and taken for granted when in plentiful supply but worth its weight in gold the moment you can't get your hands on it.
Until recently, I have always been one of those irritating people who crash into an untroubled coma the instant my head hits the pillow. Although I generally need a lot of it, sleep is never something I've had a problem getting a hit of whenever it's on offer.
But recently, the dealer has shut up shop. Whether it's due to work pressure, a litany of personal dramas or something more sinister, I have of late developed an unhealthy fascination with my bedroom ceiling.
From midnight dawn, I stare at my ceiling and wonder all sorts of irrelevant things about it; who put it there? What storms has it seen off? What passions, joys and heartbreaks has it borne witness to over its 70 years and who else has stared at it through long, lonely hours of insomnia?
At what point does one admit defeat, switch on the light and pad down the cold hallway to make a cheese sandwich?
In stubborn determination to show sleep who was boss, I recently lay awake with the light off for an entire night. As each minute passed I kept thinking "it'll happen now ... I'll go to sleep in three, two one, NOW ... or maybe ... NOW? Pretty please?"
But it never did and when the alarm finally went off at 7am, such was my relief that despite having not enjoyed a moment's sleep I leaped out of bed utterly grateful just to be able to stop trying.
As any insomniac knows, the only thing more frustrating than lying awake at night is lying there while someone else lies next to you in uninterrupted slumber. At every peaceful intake of breath from my boyfriend lying next to me, I have to hold myself back from grabbing the pillow out from under his unconscious head and smothering him with it till he stops breathing altogether. Or at least flick his ear just hard enough to wake him but not hard enough for him to register it was me and my sleep envy responsible for the disturbance.
Although I tried every remedy for insomnia, conventional and alternative, the precise moment of recovery is impossible to pinpoint. I am mostly cured of the problem now but can't actually say when it went away or why I didn't notice.
All I know now is that I have nightmares about my insomnia returning. But at least I'm asleep when I have them. Which, for me at least, is a dream come true.