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white rooms, part two.

Spent five days without sleep this week, until two days ago. I was waking every hour or so, unsettled. Feeling like dreaming had become exhausting, and just another way for me to give into my workaholic ways. I was feeling nervous to fall asleep, heart pounding at the mere thought of even entering my bedroom. Upon getting anywhere near a horizontal position, my chest began to feel like it was caving in. Intense pressure, racing heart, palpitations so painful I was crying out loud. On the last night of this, I called a friend in the middle of the day, broken and losing my mind, asking if I could spend the night in his spare bedroom. Somehow, I guess I thought that if I maybe got out of the Creek that it might calm me down.

Instead, I ended up visiting my physician, who agreed in our ten minute "meeting" that I didn't seem "crazy" enough to go back on full time medication, but that I indeed seemed as if I needed to relax and get a good night of sleep. I have been diagnosed with Rapid-Cycling Bipolar Disorder... whatever that means in antiquated medical terms, I do know that after a few nights without sleeping, my moods give me whiplash. I become fragmented and strange, and tend to feel like I'm slipping in the timestream. I lose my groundedness and sometimes lash out at those near me. One of my favourite buddies calls it "fraggled" and he'll always call me on it, which is really good. I spent three years of my life as a government guinea pig, with a year and a half spent on Lithium ((see also: immense weight gain (approx. 40 pounds), total lethargy affect, complete loss of personality)) and a year and a half on Seroquel ((see also: night sweats, shakes, constant fevered feeling, complete loss of creativity and inspiration, intensely overwhelming obsessive suicidal thoughts)).

I finally went off pharms with the assistance of my psychotherapist, who was the first person to ask me what my connection with Spirit was, and if I'd ever tried to meditate to calm down. I went through a withdrawal process from the medication, which was actually more challenging to me than coming off of alcohol. I'm really hesitant to call upon these things when I know that exercise and prayer work so well, but I also know when it's time to knock myself out, for the safety and well-being of all who surround me in my small community. I left the doctor's office with another piece of white paper bearing a seemingly indecipherable message. Walked right into the drugstore next to the doctor's office and received my parcel of downers in approximately ten minutes.

Decided to chill out and have a creative night at home. Dressed up for no reason other than to look awesome for myself and danced my ass off while rhyming and singing with some of my favourite puppets. Took half of "the blue pill" at 9 pm. Hellooooo, Apo-Zophiclone! The shit came on so fast and so strong even at half the recommended dose that I woke up on top of my covers in my best evening gown and Logen's stilettos with a fuzzy sheep puppet on my arm the next morning. It was good to sleep deep. I opened my eyes stunned to see the sunlight, and then laughed my ass off at my state. Good times! Goooood times.

Some snippets from my medicated sleep:

White rooms again. White hallways. Running through secret doors, squeezing through hidden passages, sliding through tunnels. Some kind of tripster wonderland in white upon white upon white.

A hotel. Standing at a front check in, searching for something in a bag. Then in a room, unpacking and packing again, as if in a loop.

Back to white room. A weird apartment. I was moving in, setting things up on white shelves. Sitting on a soft white sofa.

And just a side note: if you ever see me freaking out and nearing a "fraggled" state. It is better to say something like, "Hey, maybe it's time to go take a blue pill" than to call St. Mary's. Trust me. I usually just need to have a wee nap.

night
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