Weaponized sleep

or, the absence of it

“Beep beep beep - ATTENTION! Increased missile threat!”

The air alert app alerts me about the danger, doing its job.

During the air attacks, I only got two moods - and that’s it.

Mood one: I sleep through the attack, wrapped up in my blanket like the little weary burrito I am, aware that tomorrow holds work, where I would need to focus on doing and processing something - reports, indicators, project milestones that either did or did not go horribly wrong. At any moment during the night, I could be transformed from a snug burrito to an exploded burrito. But I don’t think about that, and I certainly try not to feel anything. Feelings are too cognitively expensive. Instead, I focus on preserving my last two brain cells for tomorrow’s day.

And I am not complaining about the tasks on my plate - in fact, I have a very interesting job! My complaint is about the damage russia does to my remaining brain cells. If my two brain cells were living creatures, one would be the guinea pig from Fleabag - always anxious, desperate for warmth, its very existence publicly displayed in some cute café while the real thing trembles inside a cage. The other braincell? A cat. The kind that meows in the middle of the night for no reason and then sleeps through the only moment it actually needs to be awake.

Then, my mood number two during attacks: a relentless girlie. She refuses to accept the russian roulette as a ‘new normal’ part of her nights. She goes to the metro and sets up a sleeping bag, determined not to be killed. Or, at the very least, she builds a fort in the bathroom and keeps herself safe. She is spiteful, and she keeps on going, fueled by anger. She won’t be killed that easily, won’t give her enemies that satisfaction. With the two walls of the bathroom - or the depth of the metro - separating her from the outside world, she peers at the Telegram feed, monitoring the number of drones and their direction. She desires one thing: for russia to burn in hell for disrupting her sleep.

Let’s talk about sleep.

For my two moods during missile & drone attacks can be summarised via the Shakespearean monologue:

To die? versus To sleep?

“To die? To sleep? Perchance to dream - aye, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil?” As a friend of mine has named the club of those of us who sleep through attacks - “мертві але виспані” - ‘dead but well-rested’. Or are we?

My beloved Texty just published an interactive article about sleep deprivation among Ukrainians. This article, in turn, references the scientific study called “Non-guided, mobile, CBT-I-based sleep intervention in War-torn Ukraine: A feasibility study”.

Here’s what they say about the 1,353 sleep-deprived nights (think about it) of Ukrainian civilians since the beginning of the full-scale russian invasion: basically, we’re fucked. Needless to say, participants of the study spent significantly less time sleeping during mass attacks than on regular nights. Even if we do sleep through attacks, the sleep becomes shallow and irregular, giving the illusion of restfulness while depriving a person of the deep phase of sleep necessary for repair and recovery. Moreover, the sleep interruptions that civilians experience during nighttime attacks continue even during the ‘safe’ nights. The body gets used to being alert. Regardless of whether there is an active ongoing threat in the moment or not, Ukrainians don’t sleep well.

And that’s just a study about civilians. Consider the military. The Ukrainians also recently published a photo series about our defenders sleeping in odd places, in odd positions, in odd situations. When on the frontline, any opportunity to sleep is precious and cannot be wasted.

In that sense, russia uses the absence of sleep as a weapon. Lack of sleep disorients us, makes us more likely to suffer from depression, anxiety, chronic stress, insomnia, PTSD. Lack of sleep lowers the guard against disinformation. It’s an attack on human productivity and Ukraine’s economic productivity.

Sleep deprivation impairs cognitive performance and erodes capacity for empathy and community connection - fragile resources but much needed for a nation to still stay strong after almost four years of full-on war, after eleven total years of war. It’s an attack against our sense of community, for sleep-deprived people are easily inflamed, more likely to be frustrated, to lash out against others.

Sleep deprivation is an attack against the Ukrainian children, whose brains are growing and changing while being constantly tipped off-balance by stress and the onslaught of drones.

It’s torture. It’s a public health emergency.

Even at a distance, Ukrainian civilians are being tortured by russia. And this is not a problem that goes away when the war ends. The body keeps the score, and these thousands of interrupted nights will echo through our health, our economy, and our collective psyche for years to come. Sleep debt, like every other debt this war has forced upon us, will eventually come due.

What will it be then - how will we catch up? Will it be something like ‘My year of rest and relaxation’ by Ottessa Moshfegh, where the protagonist sorta sleeps most of the time for a year? God, I wish. Honestly, I’d take it.

However, for the foreseeable future, and even not-so-foreseeable one, I shall refer to the words of a poet:

“But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

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