suitably*woundedWhat Beat!?? I Can't Dance!
November 15th 2006 00:53
At least not with that asshole Insomnia as my partner. He has no rhythm and leads ass backwards, always out of step with everybody else on the floor! Dammit, that's why I prefer Sir Seroquel. He may be slow, but he's persistent with great amounts of stamina. Where is he when I want to nightly boogie? I can't help it, I'm just a party girl who demands a better suitor.
So yeah, I can't ever fucking sleep. I'm not sure how long this has been going on because it feels like forever, but pin pointing an actual genesis is difficult. One of my earliest memories concerning this was when I was probably six. The Exorcist had come out the year before and although it's something no one in my family dared ever see, you couldn't help but be confronted with images of Linda Blair's revolving head on each magazine cover you encountered (thank you National Enquirer). All that means that I was terrified of her and she was gonna come get me in the middle of the night. Hey, I am creative you know. I'd sit up in bed and stare through the blinds on the windows until my dad left for work at 4:00 am and then I could go get in bed with mommy (she was semi-okay then, although don't let me forget to tell you about the orphanage story sometime). There was my initial memory of insomnia. ::: sigh ::: That one had a reason though. Sort of.
Next, I had to force myself to stay awake to accommodate all the softball playing. When you have games that don't even start until almost 10:00, as a little kid, you're screwed. Especially when you figure in an hour to play, another 30 minutes to shoot the shit at the field, then however long it took for the team to eat (and that was something that was never missed, let me tell ya) and finally, the drive home. When we moved to east Texas when I had just become a sophomore, we still traveled to Dallas for league games (usually twice a week -- and this didn't include the separate trips for church) at around 2 hours each way. I didn't dare sleep. Meaning, of course, that I learned not to when I needed to. Heh. That sounded sort of zen. "The Art of Insomnia and Motorcycle Maintenance." I like it.
That was pretty much it, except for the occasional nightmare, until I married Jaceson and was put off by the 'man in the room' thing. Eh, that harkened back to the other step-brother who shall remain souless that I don't know if I'll ever be ready to talk about. Anyway, a lock on the bedroom door, as ridiculous as that sounds, did the trick and just left me generally scared instead of specific. Until I went over the line into the Darkside. How I made that huge leap from what I'd know previously is a mystery. And now, I could. not. sleep. at. all. Only during the glorious sunlight, like a nap. If I tried past dark, I was riddled with what they call "night terrors," which I took to mean they needed a more potent and fancy phrase for bad dreams. ::: shrug ::: Maybe they were. Unfortunately, days ended up being broken too and in the decade that this has been my beloved albatross, I'd never been blessed with a medication that helped. The entire damn lot of 'em sucked, kind of like any drugs (not that sort -- I'm so boring straight-laced, I've never even tried pot) I've tried to help.
Then came August. Or more accurately, a couple of different attempts to locate something that works and we eventually settled on Lunesta first, but then ultimately the gentleman I referenced in my opening paragraph became my nocturnal lover. No, wait. See, here's the thing though.... I get really good Zzzzs whenever I actually get to LaLa Land, but it still can't be at night. Nope, nada. It seems that I'm afraid of it. Basically unconscious after lights out, that is. This from the person whose motto could be "Carpe noctum!", unless that's why.... I should be up then typing on here and hence, I AM. But I'd love to turn it around, toss them upside down. I'm not really certain for what, except that maybe it would render my posts more coherent and, ::: gasp ::: , shorter. I dunno, I shouldn't complain about any of it, to get a couple of hours is a God send, but as I repeatedly say, I'm tired. Perhaps another Bloody Mary or four would be of assistance.
Up for the duration. I'll see y'all still after midnight.
Peaces,
~Kemi
So yeah, I can't ever fucking sleep. I'm not sure how long this has been going on because it feels like forever, but pin pointing an actual genesis is difficult. One of my earliest memories concerning this was when I was probably six. The Exorcist had come out the year before and although it's something no one in my family dared ever see, you couldn't help but be confronted with images of Linda Blair's revolving head on each magazine cover you encountered (thank you National Enquirer). All that means that I was terrified of her and she was gonna come get me in the middle of the night. Hey, I am creative you know. I'd sit up in bed and stare through the blinds on the windows until my dad left for work at 4:00 am and then I could go get in bed with mommy (she was semi-okay then, although don't let me forget to tell you about the orphanage story sometime). There was my initial memory of insomnia. ::: sigh ::: That one had a reason though. Sort of.
Next, I had to force myself to stay awake to accommodate all the softball playing. When you have games that don't even start until almost 10:00, as a little kid, you're screwed. Especially when you figure in an hour to play, another 30 minutes to shoot the shit at the field, then however long it took for the team to eat (and that was something that was never missed, let me tell ya) and finally, the drive home. When we moved to east Texas when I had just become a sophomore, we still traveled to Dallas for league games (usually twice a week -- and this didn't include the separate trips for church) at around 2 hours each way. I didn't dare sleep. Meaning, of course, that I learned not to when I needed to. Heh. That sounded sort of zen. "The Art of Insomnia and Motorcycle Maintenance." I like it.
That was pretty much it, except for the occasional nightmare, until I married Jaceson and was put off by the 'man in the room' thing. Eh, that harkened back to the other step-brother who shall remain souless that I don't know if I'll ever be ready to talk about. Anyway, a lock on the bedroom door, as ridiculous as that sounds, did the trick and just left me generally scared instead of specific. Until I went over the line into the Darkside. How I made that huge leap from what I'd know previously is a mystery. And now, I could. not. sleep. at. all. Only during the glorious sunlight, like a nap. If I tried past dark, I was riddled with what they call "night terrors," which I took to mean they needed a more potent and fancy phrase for bad dreams. ::: shrug ::: Maybe they were. Unfortunately, days ended up being broken too and in the decade that this has been my beloved albatross, I'd never been blessed with a medication that helped. The entire damn lot of 'em sucked, kind of like any drugs (not that sort -- I'm so boring straight-laced, I've never even tried pot) I've tried to help.
Then came August. Or more accurately, a couple of different attempts to locate something that works and we eventually settled on Lunesta first, but then ultimately the gentleman I referenced in my opening paragraph became my nocturnal lover. No, wait. See, here's the thing though.... I get really good Zzzzs whenever I actually get to LaLa Land, but it still can't be at night. Nope, nada. It seems that I'm afraid of it. Basically unconscious after lights out, that is. This from the person whose motto could be "Carpe noctum!", unless that's why.... I should be up then typing on here and hence, I AM. But I'd love to turn it around, toss them upside down. I'm not really certain for what, except that maybe it would render my posts more coherent and, ::: gasp ::: , shorter. I dunno, I shouldn't complain about any of it, to get a couple of hours is a God send, but as I repeatedly say, I'm tired. Perhaps another Bloody Mary or four would be of assistance.
Up for the duration. I'll see y'all still after midnight.
Peaces,
~Kemi
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Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
Health Focus
Poetry Lighthouse
MS Paint Art
If this is true and it is you, this is terrible, what can I do?
I hear a voice crying in the wilderness but how can I reach out in cyberspace.
This is terrible for me, it must be so much worse for you.
All I can suggest is that you pray and I only hope God hears you.
Are there not groups with skilled carers who can help?
Love you darling, but I am a mere mortal, I wonder how much you've heard this before.
Stay in touch.
katyzzz
Comment by suitably*wounded
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
I am grateful for your beautiful offer of assistance, especially from so far away. At the moment, the only thing I'd like to be rich in is friendships. Prayers are also greatly appreciated. As for support, I'm in a search again for a new therapist. I'm crossing both fingers and toes that the next one isn't a quack, completely self-absorbed or indifferent. See, I haven't had much luck finding that needle. But perhaps I'm in the wrong haystack. =)
And no matter what one has heard before or how much, it's always a blessing to be loved. You too sweetheart. I will think of you often and your good heart. I will stay in touch and long for you to do the same.
~Kemi
Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
Health Focus
Poetry Lighthouse
MS Paint Art
Just hang in there and listen to the beat, sooner or later your feet will start to move and you'll dance.
katyzzz
Comment by suitably*wounded
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
It's gotten close a few times, but it hasn't got me (or my little dog) yet. I'll just keep listening like you said. =)
Comment by Adrian
Philosophy Blog
Or does it just make you you too exhausted and sleep deprived to do anything?
Comment by suitably*wounded
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
And yeah, I stay freakin' exhausted always. I think I have a set of circles under my eyes that would rival a racoon's best head shot for an animal modeling agency. In other words, you can bet I look absolutely marvelous darling. =P
Comment by Bryn
Horrorphile
Comment by suitably*wounded
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
Perhaps it's the dead part.
Comment by Bryn
Horrorphile