Writing: A Cure for Insomnia by Sidonie Middleton

HEALTH ISSUE | APRIL 2021

For four years I have been repeatedly told that all that had transpired was so incredible, fantastic, insane, and preposterous that I should write a book. I just laughed. I hardly had time to write a grocery list during the year after the fl ood. My life revolved around restoring two fl ood-ravaged houses and repairing or replacing furnishings and appliances. And I couldn’t allow myself to be slowed down by the fatigue that was aggravated by being unable to sleep through the night.

From the time I became aware that Tenant was coming onto my property in the middle of the night, I started waking at the slightest sound, listening, unable to go back to sleep. The once-familiar sound of the wind rustling through the trees or a shutter rattling against a window would at times take on the ominous suggestion of a car engine or tires on the rock driveway. Here I was, out in the woods alone and with no neighbors within screaming distance. And once I was awake, the wheels in the brain would engage and I would start fretting over the entire imbroglio—the devastating fl ood damage, the death threats, the lawsuit, and all that I hoped to get done the next day despite the fatigue.

Obviously, I had too much to do and was too tired to devote time to writing a book.

Then the realization struck me—I could write during those wakeful hours in the middle of the night rather than just lying there listening and worrying. So why not get up, get a cup of coffee, and go to my computer and type? It worked like a charm! With my devoted Lab Bonbon stretched out at my feet, it was so peaceful and relaxing. I found that writing was not only very cathartic, it was also easy. Amazingly easy! I simply started relating the events, beginning with the day of the fl ood, and the words just fl owed from my fi ngertips. Another side benefi t was that after an hour or so I could go back to bed and enjoy a few hours of sound sleep. Writing a book can even cure insomnia!

Once I got into the project, I found that I didn’t really have to write a book; the book was already basically written if I simply put together all the records, notes, affi davits, documents, reports, witness statements, etc., that I had accumulated by that time. I gathered them all and arranged them in chronological order, selected relevant quotes, and then added commentary. Having this to work on offered me a release from the years of forced inaction and silence about the case, of being ignored and excluded from the communications between the attorneys, of being deprived of my right to represent myself in my counterclaim—in effect being told to shut up and stay out of the way, like a potted plant.

Now I could unload the stress, anxiety, fatigue, frustration, and fear onto paper. Doing so required no creative writing skill. It was the simple unembellished truth. I wasn’t thinking about actually publishing a book at that point. It was the writing that was important. It was a great morale boost—I called it my therapy. I was fi nally doing something! My book would certainly not fi t in the “fi ction” category. The “memoir” genre would be appropriate because I was relating my own experience to the best of my recollection and supporting it with the extensive documentation I had accumulated by then. The prospect of actually publishing it was tempting, I have to admit, but looking at it realistically, I knew that writing a book, even a memoir, was for talented and experienced authors. Since I didn’t qualify, my book-writing would never result in a published manuscript and would only serve the temporary purpose of a “feel-good” project. Then, two years after the fl ood and a year after Tenant fi led his civil suit against me, we fi nally got around to his deposition. After fi ve hours of sitting across the conference table from Tenant as he answered my attorney’s questions—well, most of them—and hearing every time he said “Middleton” as though he were spitting nails and referring to me throughout as “harpy,” “liar,” “bitch,” and more, I’d had enough. He fabricated events out of whole cloth and even stated basic facts such as names and dates falsely. That decided it.

The story was begging to be told. This man who self-righteously purports to be a practicing attorney and a member in good standing of the Louisiana bar should not be allowed to behave this way with impunity. I looked through what I had written so far and realized

HEALTH ISSUE | APRIL 2021

that it could easily be transcribed into manuscript form. It is said that truth is stranger than fi ction. It can also be even more poignant, compelling, interesting, moving, exciting – and certainly more amusing! A book was born.

But it took an interesting twist. What began as a memoir recounting the fl ood and its aftermath, dealing with Tenant, became a critique of the process of our legal system and the role of lawyers in misuse of the system. It was a revelation to me that a simple injustice, a frivolous lawsuit, which should have been quickly resolved, could be turned into a litigation nightmare that would go on for years. So my “therapy” became a manuscript. I have achieved my purpose of sharing my experiences in the hope that readers who may be faced with a similar situation will benefi t from it. How different these last few years of my life could have been if I had read this book three years ago!

Sidonie Middleton, a New Orleans native, also lived for a time in France and Austria. Before “Tilted Justice: First Came the Flood, then Came the Lawyers,” she had never considered writing a book. Before becoming the victim of a frivolous lawsuit, she had never taken a law course or represented herself in court.

Her experiences during the threeyear course of litigation compelled her to publish an account of the amazing events that occurred, from the life-threatening fl ash fl ood to the fi nal court decisions.

Living alone since the death of her husband, Sidonie especially loves visits with her children and grandchildren to add to the company of her devoted Lab, Bonbon.