It is after 2 in the morning. I am awake. I don’t want to be. My mind will not stop making noises and my heart is galloping along, trying to keep up with the echoes of the jumbled thoughts tumbling down the hills and slopes of my consciousness. This is the aftermath of some sort of episode; if it was a panic attack, it just upped its game in a huge way. I can’t take a magic pill because I already took 2. I know: take as prescribed. Fuck that noise. I’ve had a lot of shit hit the fan in the last couple of days and it’s covered me in its stink and I just need the cleansing of a deep, dreamless sleep.
I want to sleep. I crave it. I was ready. But as I settled down, underneath the covers because the air blowing from the fan in the window is a crisp 50°, a thought formed in my head and then bloomed like a firework ; it was quite loud and instantly jarring.
What if you fall asleep and you don’t wake up? Would it be so bad? You wouldn’t know. You’d be dead. What if your last act on this planet was to spend a lazy evening on the couch, watching HBO? Is that how you want to go out? Shit, girl. Face the facts: that’s exactly how it’s going to go down, whether it’s tonight or 25 years from now. You have squandered a life. You could’ve done things. And yet, you let people convince you that you were shit and that you didn’t matter. They said it just enough times for you to believe it. You fell for the oldest trick in the book and that is the fact that unhappy people spread unhappiness like the plague. And now you think you have it all figured out and you’re cured of the disease but what if this is it? What if this is as good as it ever gets and your newfound dreams are just wisps of smoke on the wind? And what if it’s all just gathering again, the bad? Gathering and building up strength and it’s going to barrel through your heart and decimate you? What made you think you were entitled to peace?
And boom. Fear. Paralyzing fear, heart racing, trying to take even breaths and cursing my stupid brain for not simply shutting the fuck up.
Traitorous fuck. You traitorous fucking brain.
It’s dark. I have not turned on the light. The husband is asleep in the next room, a wall separating me from his loud, droning snore that can be heard upstairs, he gets so vocal. Don’t judge us. This is the ONLY way we both get our night’s rest and so what? That’s precisely why the wall separates us. I should try and get to him, but he has to work in the morning and really, he is probably sick of my mental bullshit. I am sick of my mental bullshit. And ashamed. I know, in braver moments, I champion the fact that this is me and I can get through it and that anyone who suffers from any kind of mental health issue should own their shit and not be a slave to the lies it tells. Right now, though? I’m not feeling like owning my shit. I’m feeling tired of my shit and ashamed that I can’t be stronger. Fight that low stuff, vanish it with exercise, with meditation, with inner strength. But no, I have to take pills. Every. Single. Day. And they are not working, and I know they are not, because thoughts like what just happened made it through. Hell, it’s as if someone just opened the door and said, “Come on in!”
Did I do that? Let them in?
I’m tired. Ironic, huh? This whole exercise is about being tired and I am the motherfucking EPITOME of tired right now. Maybe the intruder is right. Because things have been feeling wrong for a while now and I am nothing if not a faithful follower of my own intuition. So maybe that’s why sleep eludes me; something is coming.
Or maybe this is just the big D lying to me again.