Marcy - I have had small doses of RLS and I know of a really, REALLY quick way I can experience it more fully. By reading about it. I suspect RLS is one of those diagnosis' that have increased because of the public education on it. I've decided recently that I have simply GOT to put myself on a strict mental diet…especially reading about these sort of health issues as I tend to tuck them away for TMS's use at another time. No small thing for me because I used to be a nurse and am fascinated my health topics. When I was in nursing school, I came down with all sorts of horrible maladies…few which were actually real. (Apologies to Mark Twain.)
I've long used a nature sounds app on my iPod as a way to relax and deep breath before sleep but lately I've put on an ocean view on Youtube (using a timer so it shuts off in a little bit), and that has been especially soothing to my buzzing brain.
I also use any tendency to feel RLS as a prompt to think psychologically. That particular symptom is more obvious to me since it's a "restless" one.
Here's another thing I love to do. I read this poem aloud…it's one of my favorites. I hope you like it! (PS I read not too long ago that they (whoever
they are), have determined that reading Shakespeare is just as effective in managing depression as medications.) I like to think that Longfellow is just as effective.
The Day is Done
Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.