Sometime I wonder if manic isn't almost worse than depressive. Everything is endless with manic. Its over the top.
I feel terrible. I'm shaking and my teeth are chattering hardcore even though i'm not cold. Yet each time I start to drift off, my body yanks me away from that quiet release. No sleep for you, miss ren.
Is this even mania? I don't know whats going on with me.
Even my therapist doesn't completely know yet.
I'm crazy. Thats all there is to it.
If I wasn't crazy, sitting alone all night, night after night, certainly would make me crazy.
I was awake at one when the dorms closed.
I was awake at two when Daniel commented on my wall.
I was awake at three when Samara forgot her keys and needed to be let in.
I was awake at four, reading childrens books, trying to sleep
I was awake at five, watching youtube videos, finally admitting that I won't be getting sleep tonight.
~halucinations~
What is this madness?
My eyes won't stay open.
But they can't bear to be closed.
I look out on the misty street,
it looks how my mind feels,
blurred, uncertain, forgetful
still undecided about its true nature
Everything is so scary at night. Its the whole world comes alive, like the forest in Snow White. It seems like even the blankets, the window, the shadows are out to get me.
On wednesday night, i really freaked out. I dissociated at work. pretty bad, too. my senses were all paranoid and i had to have my back to a wall and i had to know where everyone was and i couldn't make eye contact very well and men were just terrifying.
Part of my distress this week may be due to the fact that my belief system got challenged by megan. she doesnt really feel that i really feel like women are equal to men. not that i don't want that to be true, but that i make comments and stuff that prove that my actual opinions think that women are less. and maybe i do a bit.
men dominate us because they're bigger physically.
But we, women, have sex appeal. which means that we win, every time.
at least, thats always how i've played it.
anyhow, is any of this making any sense? I don't make much sense to me right now. how can we think that i have narcolepsy when i also seem to have insomnia?
i just want to know what is happening inside my brain that makes me this way.
Is like "they told me all the wiring was somehow all misfiring and screwing up the signals in my brain, and then they told me chemistry was losing up the circitry and mixing up and making me insane."
What would your thoughts be as you sit by your window, wrapped in a blanket, at a quarter to six? The world is starting to wake up. In another half hour the earliest risers will be getting their showers, tip-toeing so as not to wake their roommates. The track team is probably lacing up their shoes right about now, just starting on a morning run. All over Elizabethton, people's automatic coffee pots are switching on, starting to brew a steaming karaffe of liquid energy. The mail men are probably getting up, starting their slow, unending routes around the quiet neighborhoods.
Its too foggy this morning for me to be able to watch the sun rise. But thats alright, I'll see it tomorrow. Thats the beauty of the sunrise. We are always there for each other. Even if one of us misses a day, its fine, we know that we have tomorrow to share in the first golden streaks of morning.
And, ah, there, its ten til six, and Beth has come to use our shower. (Her's isn't usable at the moment) She is surprised and asks why I am up. I tell her that i haven't been to bed yet. she goes. "Ren, ohhh, ren." I know. Believe me.
Then, naturally, she asks the obvious question.
"Why?"
I tell her night terrors.
she asks why again.
I say "PTSD." She asks what that is.
I say "Post-traumatic Stress Disorder"
she gasps and says "from what?"
My words falter awkwardly, now is not the time for an intimate explanation. "Abuse." I say stoically. She sighs and says "oh, ren" again. I feel like smiling. i'm kind of glad that someone is here to see what i do most nights. I feel like I just connected with Beth in a new way. She just got on my good side.
I suppose that is because she just saw who i really feel like I am. I think of myself as a slightly crazy writer girl who stays up all night because of phantasmic nightmares and hallucinations. I feel like the girl who just might very well stay up all night writing, because thats just what I want to do.
Yet, there are some things that seeing what i go through each night can't explain.
I can't explain the way my eyes jump around from tiredness, like fizzy magic eight balls.
I can't express the numb feeling of a cold dead fish that creeps over me about three o'clock.
Theres no way to explain how even when i'm not having flashbacks, i still feel scared of everything.
I can't explain how my phone is a security measure for me and when i feel that I've misplaced it or lost it, the panic that rises.
I will never be able to explain what this anxiety feels like. Its a hypertension sort of feeling. Like every muscle in my body is straining to run if need be. Its like being encased in a giant plastic air bubble. There's pressure from every side, shooting me up, and weighing me down.
Have you ever been this tired in your life? This is the kind of chronic numbing tired that is generally associated with colic newborn babies or finals week. Yet, unlike those types of tired, when when you finally get a moment, you can collapse and sleep, you have plenty of time, but are unable to utilize it. That in itself is enough to drive anyone batty.
How is it that i feel bursting with words and yet i am not certain that i have anything to say?
That makes even less sense the the nonsense i've been writing for like 40 minutes. I suppose that later i can chock this all up to being exhausted. but maybe theres truth hidden in my rambles.
"But the violets have all withered,"
I'm not sure why that came to mind all the sudden, unless I am (apparently) no longer loyal to sleep. That treachery seems like a foolish one to me. Yet it would seem that its my choice.
But then, its not my choice. Can i explain that to someone who doesn't know? I don't chose sit up at night. I don't chose to react badly to sudden noises or movements or unexpected touches. And its not like this makes me any weaker.. okay, well, maybe I am weaker because, in a practical sense, i'm just simply less stable. But that doesn't mean that I'm weaker in my courage or my hope or my creativity. Just what are we talking about here?
Can PTSD make sense to someone who doesn't know? I know that Rebecca Seaman thought that the idea of seeing yourself outside of yourself sounded crazy and bizarre. But thats just one person. I wonder if Beth is thinking about me now, while she's in my bathroom. Is she wondering over what I said? Is she trying to guess what "abuse" I suffered through that now keeps me up all night? Does she even really care? Do i intrigue her? Or maybe the of a PTSD sounds dangerous and unfriendly and she doesn't like me. Maybe she feels compassion for me.
~The Survivors~
I wonder if this is how soldiers feel.
I think it must be.
Road-weary and burdened.
We are the exhausted,
Even in the face of victory, we are defeated
because there will never be peace for us
No matter how much tranquility
there will be screams in our ears
Tormented wraiths crowd our minds
Hands that reach out to steady us,
seem to be grasping to kill
Even in the face of victory, we are defeated
Because there will never be peace for us
The nightmares claw at the veil
between the waking and sleeping hours
making sleep real as day,
and reality as fuzzy as a dream
No understanding of which is which anymore
Even in the face of victory, we are defeated
Because there will never be peace for us.
Its now six thirty. Strange how time passes, isn't it? Time. In Alice in wonderland, time is a HE who gets grumpy. Time is elusive and changable. Yet truth be told, I suppose that time is that way here too, if you really stop to think about it. At moments time, flies by and then it crawls.
I am going to give sleeping one more try now.
Wish me luck,
Ren
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