I’ve dealt with insomnia for most of my life. It comes and goes in direct relation to how much I loathe my existence at the time. From the age of 18 to 24 it was rather constant. I’d have to swallow up to 4 sleeping pills in order to achieve a fitful sleep for 5 hours max. But over the last few years I’ve done a lot better. Aside from a wee bit of PTSD I’d consider myself marginally cured. If I so much as take a benadryl I usually end up strung out and hate-tweeting about my coworkers for the next 36 hours (not to be confused with amused-tweeting about them).
But the other night my insomnia crept back in and attacked with full force. I lay there on my back until 3AM, telling myself that all I had to do was slide my leg this way or uncover that toe, or brush that hair off my face and I would finally get comfortable. Then 45 minutes would pass and I’d realized I’d just spent all that time thinking about one of the following:
I have a major problem here that I’ve covered more extensively in another blog post, but I’ll summarize it like this: WTF is the universe. Really? This is a Russian nesting doll situation that makes me have difficulty breathing because there are all these other planets out there with stuff happening on them and so much space in between and then there are pieces of rock flying around and I don’t know where they came from and I don’t understand anything and I kind of think that science is made up.
My Looming Wedding
This is happening in… like 10 daysish? And I have to do stuff and there’s no one else who’s responsible for it. Stuff that involves technology, like scanning photos of me as an angry child up in a tree. And stuff that involves me removing sticky tags from the bottoms of candles and stuff that involves talking to strangers about flowers and it really all sounds pretty awful. Also I have to stand up there in front of people. Like, actual people. That will be staring at me.
Things I Should Blog About
The second my body goes horizontal I’m assaulted by a thousand bizarre memories—“I should blog about that old abandoned meat packing plant where we used to hang out” or “I should tell the story of when my oldest brother tore a door of its hinges so he could kill my other brother, that was fun.” And then I start thinking about my childhood and I can’t reconcile a lot of the memories and then I’m pretty sure I’m just an alien and none of it’s real. Like asteroids. OH MY GOD, ASTEROIDS.
Am I Wasting My Life?
What happens when it’s time to make a career jump and I have to go work somewhere that doesn’t allow their management staff to wear their pet reptiles on their bosoms, or bang each other all the time? What if it turns out I don’t know how to apply myself because I spend most of my life looking at my Facebook notifications? What if I’m just going to become that harpy down the hall and never leave? But then again I like having a brainless job that pays me good money to be on Twitter all day.
My Ex Might Kill Me Tonight
My shotgun is only three feet away, but it’s kind of wedged between the nightstand and the wall. How quickly could I grab it? Oh no, what was that sound? Was that the back door? Why is Zola snoring? Shouldn’t she be in lion-killing mode? Where’s the safety on the gun, will I be able to flip it in time? Hopefully he kills me really fast. Oh Alex will be sad. Will someone tell my blog followers I’m dead? Why do I always sleep naked, this is going to be messy.
For the last two nights I’ve indulged my former self by taking a wee bit of melatonin. I wouldn’t normally have it on hand but while Alex and I were having pre-marital counseling at The Hipster Pastor’s house I mentioned something about a nightmare and he gave me peppermint flavored melatonin from Trader Joes. He called it “Night Night Candy,” which means I was like “NOM NOM NOM GIMME IT.”
Do you struggle with insomnia? Is there anything that helps you get a good night’s rest? What thoughts consume you while you try to fall asleep?
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