Tag Archives: sleep

Little Anomalies

I was going to write about how I experience empathy, but I’m suddenly tired and unable to think. That’ll have to be for some other time, like in a couple of weeks.

I’m going to visit my family tomorrow, and I’ll be there for about two weeks. So, I probably won’t be on here. Not that I’ve been on here much lately, anyway. I haven’t been very good at keeping up with blogging lately. But my summer shouldn’t be too busy, so perhaps I’ll be on more regularly in June.

A couple of odd things lately:

I’ve started experiencing intense smells in my dreams. I thought there weren’t supposed to be smells in dreams? And that if were are smells, those smells were intruding from real life. But these smells are most definitely not from my sleeping surroundings. I smell things that couldn’t possibly be there. All sorts of things. Cake. Mud.

I’m curious as to why this is. I’ve never had a keen sense of smell to begin with. Why would I suddenly begin smelling things in my dreams?

I’m also someone who usually sleeps curled up, as scrunched into myself as possible. If I’m on my back, which I am often, I lie rigid with my arms around a stuffed animal, behind the pillow, or alongside my body. My legs are then crossed at the ankles or just stretched out straight right next to each other.

But lately, I’ve begun to sprawl out in my sleep. Consistently. I have to be sprawled out to fall asleep, often, too. Why would my sleep position suddenly change so dramatically?

**********

I think I’ve figured out why Supernatural resonates with me so much. For some reason, it puts me in an artistic mood, the same mood that impels me to write my stories. I’m not sure how to explain what this mood feels like. It’s got ingredients of inspiration, flashes of emotions and tableaus, bursts of creative energy. Then when I write, it’s like I go into a half-trance, like I’m here but also placing myself in another place. Occasionally I have to pause and sit there, perhaps close my eyes, until the right mood arrives for the part I’m writing. Like something in my brain has to percolate and I have to wait for it to finish until I can fully articulate it.

This artistic mindset explains the weird impulse I’ve been having to write fanfiction. That is not something I do. I don’t want to write any of those novel-length types, just really short pieces. I keep getting glimpses of imagined emotional moments that I feel like writing. I’m not silly enough to have acted on the impulse (so far?), thank goodness. Fanfiction is not a world I wish to deeply involve myself in . . .

I’ve also gotten snippets of an idea for a non-fanfiction short story; it revolves around thoughts about God and angels.

*********

I’ve been thinking about my lack of ambition again. I’m afraid to strive for anything because of the big break.

Today, I described it to my therapist as a “pretend breakdown.” She asked why I called it a pretend breakdown, and I explained it’s because I wasn’t truly non-functional. Wouldn’t I be non-functional if I had a breakdown? Problem is, it’s hard for me to tell, since blending in and not drawing attention to myself are big motivators for me. The therapist didn’t say much in response to that, so I assume she agreed with me. I kept getting irritated during therapy today and thought she was acting like she was bored. Logically, I know she wasn’t, but I wanted to start cursing and getting angry and telling her to fucking pay attention and that if I was boring her maybe I should just leave. Luckily, I reined in those impulses. See, these are the sorts of instincts I have, and with very little justification, and that’s why I feel I’m a bad person.

Then I talked about how hollow I felt, and she asked if I’d ever found anything fulfilling. I said writing, but then I’d sometimes begin thinking it was pointless and lose that fulfillment. She said she thought I could talk myself out of feeling fulfilled. That could perhaps be true. She asked if the point could possibly just be the fulfillment itself. But I can’t fully buy into that, because why should the point just be to make myself satisfied? If it doesn’t serve some other purpose, if all my writing does is sit around and no one ever reads it, what’s the use? It’s a lot of work for very little.

Anyway, back to the big break. I’m afraid. I’m afraid if I have any ambition, reach for anything, I’ll have another big break, and I’m not strong enough to go again through whatever that was.

For some reason, toward the end of the session, I started feeling emotional. We were talking about my upcoming visit to my family, and suddenly a rapid montage of the past played in my mind. I remembered everyone not getting along. Then I imagined lots of shouting and me inwardly cowering and wanting to run away and not get involved. Brief feelings that everyone hated me, intense feelings of self-worthlessness. I didn’t explain all that, though.

If you read my blog at the beginning, you might dimly remember when I used to whine about my childhood. All of that just briefly took over. That’s not a can of worms I’m going to open right now, ha.

Now, my family never hated me; I just felt that way. If anything, these days there are moments when I can almost feel their love radiating off them. This has to do with what I wanted to say about empathy–sometimes I feel as if I can perceive people’s emotions radiating off them when they speak. Maybe that’s absurd. I don’t know.

Oh, gosh, I can’t believe I wrote so much. I’m done with my random rambling.

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A Heart Bursting With Weakness

I’m going to do some complaining even though I have no right to. Things are going decently, comparatively speaking. I’m not in one of those deep darknesses that make me feel as if I might endanger myself. It’s a softer spell.

I’m just so tired. All I want to do, and all I’ve wanted to do for some time, is sleep. But going to sleep at night makes me nervous. I don’t know why.

I just want to sit here and do nothing. For my whole life, almost. I can’t get myself to do more than the bare minimum at the moment.

I want to lie in a warm cocoon and never leave.

There’s so much pain in my heart. Just pain about everything, the whole world. Any topic I can think of, and I feel as if something about it smites my heart.

I’ve been reading over the rough draft of my novel. I think I’ve come to the end of the part I wrote during NaNoWriMo. I still have circa 46,000 words out of 112,000 left to read. I wrote most of those after NaNoWriMo, so I guess my blogging hiatus paid off. I would’ve never been able to write so much otherwise.

But the last couple of chapters I’ve read in it have been awful. I don’t know how to fix them. And now I read it, read everything, and the writing is in abysmal shape. I’m not cut out for this. It’s just not good enough, and it’ll never be good enough. All this effort I put into noveling is laughable. I don’t know how to edit. There are many wonderful books out there, and this idiotic novel will never fit in among them.

I have to put the novel away for a few days; I can’t look at it right now without shuddering at how inane it is.

Still, after a few days, this random pain in my heart (it has nothing to do with the novel) won’t go away. Everything makes me want to cry. I don’t know where it’s coming from or what it means. Nothing’s happened to trigger it.

Something whispers to me:

No one likes you. You’re weak.

The only thing for it is to maroon yourself from humanity.

I don’t care if that hurts. It’s what you deserve, and it’s not like you’ll ever belong anyway.

The world is too much. It bruises, and you bruise too easily.

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A Bit Delirious

I’m not all there. I can feel it. It’s like I’m only halfway aware of what’s going on around me.

Even though I went to bed late, I did get a good 7 hours of sleep. During the summer, I go to work later than usual. As I mentioned in my late-night rambling last night, I’m afraid to go to sleep at night, and I don’t know why. I want to take a nap right now, but that would screw up my biological clock even more. Then again, I probably won’t go to bed any earlier if I don’t nap.

After work, I just drove and drove. I eventually wound up on the opposite side of town. I stopped at a Whole-Foods-like place and bought a few random things, just whatever caught my eye. I felt like I was walking through a cloud. Everything seemed really hazy. For some reason, over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been indiscriminately spending money. I spend the money just to spend it, not because I’m getting anything I want. What’m I doing? It’s not like I make oodles of money.

In the parking lot of the store, there was a loud obnoxious family in front of me as I walked back to my car. I started to feel extreme hatred of those effing suburban family types. I felt way more contemptible of that population subset than they deserve. I drove back in a daze. The air conditioner at home right now won’t cool below 80, no doubt because it’s 109 outside. This is why I hate summer so much.

I just feel like I’m a perpetual outsider. I’m jealous of everyone else because they have more likable qualities than I do.

I need to post stats for the adventure blog and accept an award and answer tagging questions on here. But first I felt like documenting my delirium. I’m going to go take a nap or eat dinner now. I don’t know which.

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Nocturnal Woes

I’m afraid to go to sleep, especially at night. I don’t know why. It’s not just because of that suicide dream, although Lord knows that could be reason enough. I think there’s something else there that I fear, something I don’t ever remember. Throughout the big break, I was always afraid to go to sleep, too. That’s when I developed irregular sleep patterns, although I’m sure grad school probably contributed to that as well.ni

I had a weird dream last night. My brother and sister and I were staying at a shady motel for the night. For some reason, the price was eight dollars. (Specific numbers often appear in my dreams, which is why I think they’re symbolic.) Anyway, this motel was a dump. It had a rickety balcony. There was a pool in the middle of a field, and it looked hazardous. But the worst thing was the smell. I felt overcome by it, like it would suffocate me. I couldn’t stay there with that smell anymore, and I told them so.  I said I wanted for us to go find somewhere else to stay. They scoffed and told me that if I wanted to do that, I’d have to go find someplace on my own and pay for it. But all the other places in town were much too expensive for me to afford by myself. The dream ended before I made a choice.

I just don’t know what to say about how I’m feeling right now. I think some of this is paranoia.

I’m sure I’m being silly now, and in a couple of days I’ll probably feel embarrassed about my current state. But I’m paranoid that there are blips in my awareness.

This does happen occasionally, but there’s more now. At the store, I bought an Icee. As I was counting out my change, the cashier asked me if I was all right. I had no idea why she’d asked me that. I felt perfectly fine. Then I went to the machine and did what I thought was fill the cup perfectly. But then all of a sudden it was overflowing, and I had no idea why. Then I turned and was surprised to see the cashier right there ready to clean up the mess. I think she must’ve been watching me because I looked odd.

Another thing I’ve become paranoid about: On Friday, I bought some grocery store sushi. I thought I grabbed a couple of packs of soy sauce. I decided to eat on the coffee table, and then I spilled my soda. After I cleaned up the spill, I looked everywhere near where I’d just been and didn’t find the soy sauce. I still haven’t found it. What if I imagined getting it in the first place?

Okay, I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine it. I’m being paranoid, surely.

But I’ve come back to a basal sensation I felt most intensely during the big break, a feeling that’s been there my whole life.  I feel irrevocably, utterly empty. It’s a hollowness that can never be filled.

I keep alternating between amusement and despair.

And there’s some imposter syndrome thrown in there. I feel completely unlikeable, and I feel that I’m a fraud and everyone on here will one day know I’m unlikeable. One day everyone will know, and I’ll be laid bare in my despicability.

Of course, if I’m unlikeable, then I’m also unlovable.

I’m foolish. I feel as if the emptiness will be filled if I feel as if someone outside of my family loves me. I know my family loves me, though I didn’t when I was a kid. But they’re also very critical.

When I was a kid, I hugged my stuffed animals to make my emptiness go away. It didn’t really work, but it helped.

I feel like everything I do is futile. Why even put in effort if I’m destined for mediocrity?

No doubt the Seroquel will knock me out soon. But still, it looks like it will be a most unrestful night.

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Operator Please

And finally, as I listened to the Black Keys’s “Little Black Submarines” (clearly derivative of Led Zeppelin), my eyes glowed with unshed tears.

Tears that still refuse to fall.

Frustration returns. My eyes clear up. Again I encapsulate sardonic amusement.

There is no catharsis for me.

Despite what may seem to be a chipper mood recently, I’m not doing well. The despair is milder than usual, submerged in hormonal smiles.

But I know better. As the saying goes, there’s a calm before the storm. This is how it usually seems to happen. I begin with a much more elevated mood than usual only to have a subsequent fall, a fall that eclipses the positivity in intensity.

Glimmers of it have been shining through during the past few days. At the end of the day, I return to my emptiness, my heartache. I resist sleep as much as I can; I know not why. It seems as if surrendering to sleep is tantamount to letting the dark depths consume me. I don’t comprehend it; it’s not as if I have unpleasant dreams.

It’s what I’m always left with. Myself. Nothing. A well of nothingness.

No one likes me. People would prefer that I go away. X said that she would serve as a reference for me? No. She’ll probably enumerate all of my weaknesses, why I’m inadequate.

I don’t want to be here. People’s eyes, judgments,they oppress me.

My heart is like glass, cracking on top of my chest.

I want to cut. On the knucklebone of my wrist. But Christ, I can’t allow myself to do that. It would be noticeable.

But why not? Why keep fighting if there’s inevitable failure? Wouldn’t it be better just to get it over with?

I want to cut at that spot. No other.

My heart feels so hollow.

Operator please.

I wish I had someone to hold me, someone upon whose shoulder I could finally release the tears.

But no. I am alone.

An outsider. It’s my destiny.

“For then, by toil subdued, he drank/The stifling wave, and then he sank.”*

My life, a hopeless ellipsis.

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An Alarming Development

I know I said in my previous post that I probably wouldn’t be posting anymore this week. Looks like I lied. This’ll be a short one, though. It’s just that there’s been a development I feel I should document.

I overslept by more than an hour this morning.

I was an hour late to work.

This is so not like me. I am a timely person. If I’m late, usually it’s not by more than five minutes. I’ve certainly never been this late before.

Before I woke up, I kept having dreams that I didn’t get up in time to make it to the city where I soon go to try out for Jeopardy.

At work, I lied and said I’d forgotten to turn on my alarm.

I hadn’t. I woke up and noticed there was too much light in the room. I hoped that it was 8-something, but I had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be. I glanced at my phone and saw it was 9:48. I’m supposed to be in by 9. F-U-C-Fudge. (Hey, I think I’m supposed to be family friendly here.)

I threw on some random clothes, grabbed a granola bar, took my meds, brushed my teeth, and left.

I am troubled by this. I know I didn’t forget to turn on my alarm because my phone was in the bed with me. That only ever happens when I press snooze and drop it wherever. Or as in this case, apparently, I turn it off.

But I have no memory of hearing the alarm at all. I’d even reached for the bedside to grab the phone, and for a second I was confused because my phone wasn’t there.

Yes, I press snooze. But I’m usually conscientious about it. I don’t turn off the alarm unless I’m clambering out of bed. And I always remember hearing the alarm.

Well, always except for today.

I don’t know what’s to blame. Seroquel? I did start doing a little oversleeping before the Seroquel, though. Not on this scale, of course. Maybe it’s a thyroid disorder.

Or perhaps it’s both the Seroquel and a thyroid disorder. With the Seroquel, I notice that I have extreme difficulty opening my eyes. I know I’ve mentioned that here before. Thyroid disorders run in my family, and there are a couple of other things that make me wonder if I have it, too. I need to stop twiddling my thumbs and get that checked out.

Whatever it is, apparently it’s slowly ruining my life.

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Blah

As I’ve mentioned, I’m visiting my family this week since it’s Spring Break. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday doing things with my family, and yesterday and today I pretty much sat around. Only when I had nothing to do did I realize how much the Seroquel is affecting me.

Not that I had no idea of Seroquel’s effect before. I’ve written several times about how exhausted I feel. That’s nothing new, as I’ve never had much energy. But matters have reached a higher level.

Ever since I’ve begun Seroquel, I’ve been periodically late to work. I don’t always hear the alarm in the morning. Before, even though I’d sometimes press snooze, I heard the alarm. Now, it takes so much effort to make myself get up. Sometimes, I physically can’t open my eyes. When I manage to do so, they inevitably slide closed. It’s like I have no control over them.

Going to work, I made myself cope. I’d drink copious amounts of caffeine. I’d give myself pep talks to stay awake long enough for me to then go home and go to sleep.

But now that I don’t have a job to force me to stay awake, I do very little but sleep. Yesterday, I woke up late. I did some stuff for a couple of hours then fell asleep. I woke up after two hours and stayed awake another two hours before I fell asleep again. I woke up two hours later.

I felt physically unable to stay awake. It was like I’d given some irresistable substance that knocked me out.  Now that I have no reason to force myself to stay awake, I don’t. I feel like I barely have enough strength to maneuver my limbs. It takes an enormous effort to manipulate them the way I want to. Not that it’s noticeable, but I do still feel like Gumby.

And I feel like my mind is so blank. Stuffed with fatigue.  I have to wade through mush to find the words I’m typing now.

Since I have so few responsibilities laying on me at the moment, I might just disappear and sleep the majority of the time. Inadvertently.

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