I couldn't take one more night like that.
It was 3:47 AM and I was pacing the hallway again, rocking back and forth on my feet like some kind of zombie. My husband was sound asleep — of course he was. He didn't feel what I felt.
That crawling. That buzzing. That urge deep inside my bones that made me want to rip my legs off.
I stood in the dark hallway of our Lakeland home, tears streaming down my face, begging God for just thirty minutes of peace.
Just thirty minutes where my legs would stay still.
That's all I wanted.
I'd been living this nightmare for 18 months.
Every single night, the second I tried to relax, my legs betrayed me. It started around 10:30 PM like clockwork. I'd crawl into bed exhausted, pull the covers up, close my eyes… and then it would begin.
The tingling. The crawling sensation. The overwhelming need to move.
People who don't have Restless Legs Syndrome can't understand. They think it's just "fidgety legs." They tell you to stretch or drink water or "just relax."
But it's not that simple.
It's torture.
It feels like insects are crawling under your skin. Like your bones are vibrating. Like something inside you is screaming to get out, and the only way to quiet it is to stand up, walk, pace, move — anything but lay still.
So I'd get up. Walk to the living room. Stretch. Sit on the floor and rock. Go back to bed. Try again.
And thirty minutes later? It would start all over again.
I was getting out of bed 6 to 9 times every single night.
My husband didn't understand. "Just try to sleep," he'd say, rolling over. But how could I explain that my own body wouldn't let me?