Dreaming
It’s been months since I last slept a night without waking up at least ten times. This night I managed to wake up only twice. Even that is an accomplishment for me. I’m not sure if I should really be that happy about this though. After all, it was not my recovering health that made me sleep but medication.
I talked to my psychiatrist on the phone yesterday. I told him that I was still not sleeping well. That I was still waking up about ten times each night, and that most nights I would end up getting up at 4 am, sometimes even at 3 or 2 am. He told me that even though he didn’t want me taking too much of the drug because it was so addictive, I should try taking 1 mg of Klonopin before I went to bed instead of 0,5 mg.
So last night I tried that. I took my Cymbalta, a painkiller, my B12 and C Vitamins and two tablets of Klonopin at 7 pm. And what can I say; it sent me spiralling straight into oblivion - wonderful, restful, dream-imbued sleep. I fell asleep at 8 pm and I slept. I slept till 5 am. And I dreamt. I dreamt again. For the first time in four months I dreamt again.
Mind you my dreams were not nice ones. I remember dreaming of being sick. I remember doctors poking around in my ears and eyes, sticking frightening fork-like instruments into my nose and torturing me in every way imaginable. I remember sitting on their examination bed, being poked at, being asked questions, being interrogated again. But I dreamt. At least I dreamt. You have no idea how good sleeping can feel. You have no idea how good dreaming can feel.
I have been feeling a bit better the last few days and have taken great joy in undertaking little walks to the supermarket across the street, to the bank and to the McDonalds around the corner. I feel like I am rediscovering a whole new world, after weeks spent more or less trapped up here in my room. Everything appears new and exciting now. I am beginning to feel alive again.
But my health is still not back to normal. The symptoms still come and go. They tend to creep up out of nowhere and then disappear again. I still have that numb patch of skin on my knee and now, my left middle toe feels numb as well. It kind of feels like it does not belong to my body anymore. I also have a cold again. This morning I woke up with a terrible stuffy nose and a bad earache. I am, again, worried I might be getting an ear infection, but hope that these symptoms too will resolve again in a matter of hours. That’s what usually tends to happen anyway.
Other than that I am coping surprisingly well. I guess I still haven’t quite come to comprehend the sheer magnitude of this illness. I’m the kind of person, who, as soon as they are feeling batter tends to more or less forget about the many bad days. Maybe this is a good trait to possess when coping with this diseases but it might equally well send my spiralling into a relapse pretty soon.
I don’t know. I simply don’t know. My life will never be the same again. I will never be the same again and I guess it’s going to take me some time to get used to that.
I talked to my psychiatrist on the phone yesterday. I told him that I was still not sleeping well. That I was still waking up about ten times each night, and that most nights I would end up getting up at 4 am, sometimes even at 3 or 2 am. He told me that even though he didn’t want me taking too much of the drug because it was so addictive, I should try taking 1 mg of Klonopin before I went to bed instead of 0,5 mg.
So last night I tried that. I took my Cymbalta, a painkiller, my B12 and C Vitamins and two tablets of Klonopin at 7 pm. And what can I say; it sent me spiralling straight into oblivion - wonderful, restful, dream-imbued sleep. I fell asleep at 8 pm and I slept. I slept till 5 am. And I dreamt. I dreamt again. For the first time in four months I dreamt again.
Mind you my dreams were not nice ones. I remember dreaming of being sick. I remember doctors poking around in my ears and eyes, sticking frightening fork-like instruments into my nose and torturing me in every way imaginable. I remember sitting on their examination bed, being poked at, being asked questions, being interrogated again. But I dreamt. At least I dreamt. You have no idea how good sleeping can feel. You have no idea how good dreaming can feel.
I have been feeling a bit better the last few days and have taken great joy in undertaking little walks to the supermarket across the street, to the bank and to the McDonalds around the corner. I feel like I am rediscovering a whole new world, after weeks spent more or less trapped up here in my room. Everything appears new and exciting now. I am beginning to feel alive again.
But my health is still not back to normal. The symptoms still come and go. They tend to creep up out of nowhere and then disappear again. I still have that numb patch of skin on my knee and now, my left middle toe feels numb as well. It kind of feels like it does not belong to my body anymore. I also have a cold again. This morning I woke up with a terrible stuffy nose and a bad earache. I am, again, worried I might be getting an ear infection, but hope that these symptoms too will resolve again in a matter of hours. That’s what usually tends to happen anyway.
Other than that I am coping surprisingly well. I guess I still haven’t quite come to comprehend the sheer magnitude of this illness. I’m the kind of person, who, as soon as they are feeling batter tends to more or less forget about the many bad days. Maybe this is a good trait to possess when coping with this diseases but it might equally well send my spiralling into a relapse pretty soon.
I don’t know. I simply don’t know. My life will never be the same again. I will never be the same again and I guess it’s going to take me some time to get used to that.