Insomnia.
I'm not sure what day it is.
The last time I wrote in this journal, I wrote about the overabundant amount of caffeine I'd had that day, and then I wandered off to bed at 4:00am.
Then a miracle happened:
I slept through the night.
I don't remember the last time that ever happened. Usually I wake up at least once during the night, to go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, whatever. More often, it's two or three times.
Let's pause for a moment, you and I, and consider what ramifications that little fact must have for my typical energy levels and general state of health.
So. Yeah. I wondered what factor, or combination of factors, had led to this little miracle; had the amount of caffeine I'd had stimulated me enough that the resulting crash dropped me into a deep sleep? Had I simply stayed up late enough to exhaust myself? I'd shut the cat out of the bedroom that night, which was unusual -- I'm not aware of the cat waking me, most nights, but does his wandering presence usually prevent me from reaching a deep state of sleep? And so on. I want to crack this riddle so I can repeat this simple feat reliably.
And then after that single small victory, I've had nothing but failure.
I know I've written here before about the form my depression seems to take these days -- that when I'm depressed or anxious, I just want to lie down and sleep. Well, I was at retcon and treebyleaf's apartment, hanging out with friends, and I was feeling depressed and anxious, and I had a headache, whine whine etc., so I decided I should just go home -- and I barely managed to keep my eyes open on the drive home. I got here and just crawled right into bed, even though it wasn't quite 8:00pm.
My phone rang a little after 9:00pm. It was wendolen, or so caller-ID tells me; I didn't wake up in time to answer it. But it was enough to wake me, which was a mixed blessing.
I hate sleep. Seriously. I painfully and powerfully resent the fact that I'm going to spend a third or more of my entire life unconscious, and I especially resent this strange overpowering exhaustion that depression brings. So since I was awake again, I decided I didn't want to waste another minute in bed. I got up and called treebyleaf and asked if I could come back over -- and if she'd make me some coffee.
I need to come to terms with the fact that I seem to need coffee to survive. No joke. I keep discovering this fact, and then forgetting it. When I'm working, when I'm in an office environment with free coffee constantly available, I'm fine. I'm not depressed, I'm not exhausted, I don't get withdrawal headaches. But when I'm not working, and I have to try to remember to make my own coffee, and I don't, well ....
So I went back and had most of a pot of coffee and my headache went away and I was happy and cheerful and all was well. I hung out with people and enjoyed myself.
And then I came home and I couldn't get to sleep. I gave up trying, got back out of bed, and played around with custom styles on LiveJournal. Until 8:00am.
I went to bed and got three or four hours of sleep; got up, got on the computer, went back to bed and slept for another hour or so. Got up again, got on the computer again, went back to bed and slept for another hour or so again. Trying to get the sleep I need in piecemeal scraps throughout the day. Trying to nest, trying to make the bed into something comfortable and perfect; I have my pillows, my herbal eye-pillow, my body pillow, all my usual blankets and most of the guest blankets piled up soft and warm around me and -- Nothing. Works.
treebyleaf called -- I think I was awake at that point -- and we had a series of weird and fragile conversations that ended up with the three of us going out to dinner. Dinner was nice.
I came home, went to bed. The phone rang at about 11:30pm. I got up, checked voicemail -- wendolen again, of course, no one else calls me that late -- and got a drink of water, resisted the urge to get on the computer, crawled back into bed.
The phone rang again about 12:30am.
This time I managed to get to it to answer it. I don't think I was very coherent. It was wendolen again. She apologized for waking me and then asked, somewhat petulantly, if she needed to just let me go back to sleep.
I got off the phone, and went back to bed, and sleep didn't come, and now I'm here. I logged on mainly to write this, but partly because I was curious to know if I'd have whiny, self-pitying e-mail from wendolen, or if there would just be whiny, self-pitying LiveJournal posts. (Both, it turns out.)
Now here I am at the computer again, and God knows when I'll be able to get back to sleep or for how long. I've had a little alcohol; maybe that will help.
This feels like a nightmare. I wish it was. Then, at least, I'd be getting some sleep.
The last time I wrote in this journal, I wrote about the overabundant amount of caffeine I'd had that day, and then I wandered off to bed at 4:00am.
Then a miracle happened:
I slept through the night.
I don't remember the last time that ever happened. Usually I wake up at least once during the night, to go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, whatever. More often, it's two or three times.
Let's pause for a moment, you and I, and consider what ramifications that little fact must have for my typical energy levels and general state of health.
So. Yeah. I wondered what factor, or combination of factors, had led to this little miracle; had the amount of caffeine I'd had stimulated me enough that the resulting crash dropped me into a deep sleep? Had I simply stayed up late enough to exhaust myself? I'd shut the cat out of the bedroom that night, which was unusual -- I'm not aware of the cat waking me, most nights, but does his wandering presence usually prevent me from reaching a deep state of sleep? And so on. I want to crack this riddle so I can repeat this simple feat reliably.
And then after that single small victory, I've had nothing but failure.
I know I've written here before about the form my depression seems to take these days -- that when I'm depressed or anxious, I just want to lie down and sleep. Well, I was at retcon and treebyleaf's apartment, hanging out with friends, and I was feeling depressed and anxious, and I had a headache, whine whine etc., so I decided I should just go home -- and I barely managed to keep my eyes open on the drive home. I got here and just crawled right into bed, even though it wasn't quite 8:00pm.
My phone rang a little after 9:00pm. It was wendolen, or so caller-ID tells me; I didn't wake up in time to answer it. But it was enough to wake me, which was a mixed blessing.
I hate sleep. Seriously. I painfully and powerfully resent the fact that I'm going to spend a third or more of my entire life unconscious, and I especially resent this strange overpowering exhaustion that depression brings. So since I was awake again, I decided I didn't want to waste another minute in bed. I got up and called treebyleaf and asked if I could come back over -- and if she'd make me some coffee.
I need to come to terms with the fact that I seem to need coffee to survive. No joke. I keep discovering this fact, and then forgetting it. When I'm working, when I'm in an office environment with free coffee constantly available, I'm fine. I'm not depressed, I'm not exhausted, I don't get withdrawal headaches. But when I'm not working, and I have to try to remember to make my own coffee, and I don't, well ....
So I went back and had most of a pot of coffee and my headache went away and I was happy and cheerful and all was well. I hung out with people and enjoyed myself.
And then I came home and I couldn't get to sleep. I gave up trying, got back out of bed, and played around with custom styles on LiveJournal. Until 8:00am.
I went to bed and got three or four hours of sleep; got up, got on the computer, went back to bed and slept for another hour or so. Got up again, got on the computer again, went back to bed and slept for another hour or so again. Trying to get the sleep I need in piecemeal scraps throughout the day. Trying to nest, trying to make the bed into something comfortable and perfect; I have my pillows, my herbal eye-pillow, my body pillow, all my usual blankets and most of the guest blankets piled up soft and warm around me and -- Nothing. Works.
treebyleaf called -- I think I was awake at that point -- and we had a series of weird and fragile conversations that ended up with the three of us going out to dinner. Dinner was nice.
I came home, went to bed. The phone rang at about 11:30pm. I got up, checked voicemail -- wendolen again, of course, no one else calls me that late -- and got a drink of water, resisted the urge to get on the computer, crawled back into bed.
The phone rang again about 12:30am.
This time I managed to get to it to answer it. I don't think I was very coherent. It was wendolen again. She apologized for waking me and then asked, somewhat petulantly, if she needed to just let me go back to sleep.
I got off the phone, and went back to bed, and sleep didn't come, and now I'm here. I logged on mainly to write this, but partly because I was curious to know if I'd have whiny, self-pitying e-mail from wendolen, or if there would just be whiny, self-pitying LiveJournal posts. (Both, it turns out.)
Now here I am at the computer again, and God knows when I'll be able to get back to sleep or for how long. I've had a little alcohol; maybe that will help.
This feels like a nightmare. I wish it was. Then, at least, I'd be getting some sleep.