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4:45 a.m. - April 29, 2002
Step step fall
Frustrating that when I wake up at 4 after crawling into bed at 1 that I have no papers to grade, no lessons to plan and I cannot focus to add to the book. What a waste of time.

Woke up in the middle of a near-anxiety attack and frightened though I can't remember my dream. It's 4:15 and I should be asleep instead of checking the room the way I do. I admit it, I'm afraid of the dark. Jesus Fucking Christ this is not normal. This is why I seek counseling like one goes to a doctor for a flu shot. I want a bogeyman shot and if that doesn't suffice, to be armed with a shotgun because I'm tired of my sleep patterns. I woke up trying to breathe and feeling a tremendous pressure on my chest and the minute I opened my eyes I jumped out of bed and turned on the lights and my hands were shaking like I was in severe withdrawl from some drug. At these times I want to talk to people if just to hear a comforting voice but come on, I'd never show people I'm like this and double come on, get real.

Things are getting worse rather than better and on optimistic days I chant the mantra, that there is always rock bottom and then the ascent to follow or if that rings hollow as mostly it does, then I think the sun will come out tomorrow but damn that's a cliched song and I'm too tired to think of anything else less smarmy. On pessimistic days I think to hell with all this and I want to crawl into some dark hole where nothing can bother me and I can hibernate until I wake in my own personal spring that is a real spring and thaws me out. Getting harder to think that I'm not always going to be like this. Excuse the woe-is-me tone but this life, this was not what was supposed to be. Here I sit at my desk in my squeaky chair with the room blazing light at 4:22 a.m. and I'm relieved to see the outside dark lessening because that means I can start my day. What a fucking freak.

What is normal? How the fuck should I know? What I do know is that I'm not it as much as I'd like to be and while I don't pursue it like midlifecrisismen do parking their Mustangs and Miatas and screwing Tiffanys and Charlenes at lunch I'd like to chill and breathe slowly and rise each day and sleep each night with the comfort that the day is over and tomorrow will be the same uneventful series of mini-actions that everybody takes for granted.

What pisses me off is that I do this to myself. I make myself not close the blinds so that I can see how dark it is outside. I make myself leave my doors open but what is the point, if during sleep I cower in my blanket afraid to peak out like some stupid child with some stupid nightmare?

The technical term is post-traumatic stress disorder with night terrors. Give me a fucking break, Mrs. Counselor. Just call it like it is, that I'm fucked up and psychotic or neurotic or schitzophrenic or manic depressive or something other than a vaguely-defined, nebulous catch-all phrase. Stick me in a straightjacket and call it a day ha but there I go, trying to be humorous to allay my fear that yes, It Could Happen because Things Begin Somewhere and maybe this is where I'm beginning and the rock bottom that I thought I hit was only a ledge and off I go again, down, down down.

 

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