Thursday, October 9, 2008

Paying With Your Last Do$$ar: to experience this success:

"real quick"__i feel sick. physically ill. to my stomach. the space in the back of my throat is wide... like when singers are trying to produce a rounder sound... or like when you're about to heave. But my food is solidly sticking to the bottom of my stomach...magnetized... back in the throat, there's something heavy back there even though it's open. feels like crying might be a possibility... but i don't really feel it. or want it.

everything was fine until i stood up.

my balloon-head drifted gaily trailing a spun string and my eyes burned but wouldn't stay shut and i was clumsy... but i was floating. i felt legit high. except w/o the focus. tried to go over notes...skim possible way. words that i would otherwise use daily are too i climb up into bed and release myself into the sheets...allow them to coddle my strange body...

not feeling better.

not feeling tired.

continuing to "ruminate"__reference later...maybe a change in title...don't forget, self__ and think:

How dirty am i. How fucking dirty am i. I take these meds...and they force sleep. falling asleep this way is strange... like you're being lowered with gentle, even hands in a baby's're nauseous. eyes burning, slowly getting heavier. thank. god. passed the am-i-sleepy? eye test. you could cry. sometimes you do. just let a little steam out. always a grab bag with that, though. sometimes you force the energy out and there are little tears. sometimes you want to release a little and uncontrollable sobs attend. how dirty am i.

take more meds to wake up. it takes literal hours to ease into functioning. hours. and then you never look like you're fully awake. your grandma asks you six hours after she saw you if you just got up from a nap... when you've been working on a paper. or trying. hard. ... nice. but you felt fine for a span. ... and now that span is waning...irritability with coherence...

early evening--functioning difficult-- nausea, chills, more irritability less coherence, exhaustion... take the meds to sleep... and there, my friends, we have come full circle.

For me. With Mania.

This is the cost of surviving college during midterms.


Anonymous said...

So real only the same type of mind can identify___and connect with those times. Yes when the I has to take THE pill for sleep, and that moment when it begins___the slowing of the clock, the withdawing of my consciousness into a black pit of deep sleep, I can almost feel my breathing becoming automatic... like some tiny little machine just coming alive, suddenly my hearing starts to mute in and out of consciousness I find myself trying to get out of bed. But the fucking meds are still srubbing my inner child with dark purple layers of linen that will not rip.

Then the burgundy pill to start the tranquil state, and eventually that zoom of daydream like a kite that is mesmerizing me into a thought, but the thought is actually a present moment. I chuck quad lattes ice lattes to wake up and then I do, but then when I piss I can smell coffee just plain coffee I find myself studying, for brilliant I am an perhaps that is our doom, but not always so warm gray.

I too am entering the mid-term weekend, and am grateful for my little pills, and the love of my blog community, and especially the thoughts of those of us who are the same type of people.

Ciao baby,

e.clare said...

I used to have a betta fish. This betta fish swam in a little lava lamp-shaped aquarium that lit up different colors. I fell asleep with that light on most nights while my fish was still alive. I noticed that every night I fell asleep with the rotating colored light on, it became less and less of a fall into sleep and more and more of a struggling, aching, sickening descent into sleep. These nights, I came to expect lucid dreaming, which scared me most of all simply because of the things I chose to dream. Lucid dreaming while medicated is one of the most horrific experiences. Constantly trying to jolt yourself awake because you can feel you are awake, and yet unable to move any body parts could be classified torture.

On those nights, I always dreamed I had an incurable degenerative illness that eventually turned me into a babbling vegetable with no way of communicating when I had seizures.

Medication is a bitch.