First Person, Singular: Sleepless Night
Another entry from Terry. Of all the things he's written, I feel like this is the one that most hits home with me. So much of it resonates as my experience as well. Thanks, Terry, once again, for your honesty.
Ten past two, the fridge cuts out; the silence is so tangible, it’s like a blank slate, punctuated only by the ticking clock. It’s time to move, move from the couch to bed, turn out the lights. Take my meds, brush my teeth.But no, paralysis sets in, symptomatic of the dread of going into my darkened room, the empty bed. At least on the couch here there is the illusion of well being: Sports Illustrated lays open on my chest and Springsteen only just left the building.
I’m passed the point of no return, no sleep tonight; I’m officially up; it’s now tomorrow; Starbucks opens at seven. Somehow the five hour gap must be filled.
Mindless surfing seems in order. I put an Etta James CD in the slot and open up the browser. I google myself just to make sure I still exist in cyberspace. The science fiction writer William Gibson coined the term while watching stoned teenagers play video games. He has never owned a computer.
The cursor mesmerizes me; I rub three days worth of stubble, for some it’s fashionable; for me it’s a sign of decomposition. That gets me off the couch; I shower and shave.
Back at my work station, I google Google there are 265,680,000 hits.
Yesterday I was in siege mode; didn’t get out of bed until three and didn’t go out, except for a brief foray to Subway. My hunger is fueled by elanzopine so I keep no food in the apartment or I could eat a week’s worth of groceries in a day.
I’ve put on forty pounds and now have high blood pressure, cholesterol and blood sugar. My GP prescribes exercise (I ride a bike 15 miles three times a week) and she wants me off elanzopine. Cycling is fine. Endorphins induce well being and relaxation, finally drugs without side effects. My psychiatrist wants to at least lower the dose of elanzopine. It’s only me who’s digging my heels in. It’s a delicate balancing act. One more psychotic break and I don’t think I’ll come back, but neither do I want to shorten my life or affect its quality.
[Painting is by Belarusan artist Vera Asiadouskaya. It's called Sleeplessness, and can be found at Snowbarsk online gallery.]
When I isolate myself people truly are strange so I must get out everyday. If I sleep during the day and don’t leave my apartment for too long thing will go south and I’ll come to in an isolation room with only vague memories of how I got there. But enough negativity, back to Google.I type in Bedlam. I knew it was an English mental hospital around the time of Shakespeare and its name was bastardization of Bethlehem, and of course gives us a word for chaos.
It turns out it was a Priory known as Saint Mary of Bethlehem that was turned into an asylum in the 15th century. People would visit, not so much relatives, but those who came to be entertained: talk about a stigma.
I’m tired of Etta James, but still must battle the silence. I turn to a favourite podcast. This one is about the battle between AC and DC power for mass consumption. It’s macabre.
Thomas Edison and George Westinghouse battled it out to see whether DC power, Edison’s invention or AC, Westinghouse’s would win out. AC was more practical, but Edison claimed it was dangerous and proved it by electrocuting animals and then a man was accidentally electrocuted by an AC generator. Regardless, AC won out, but not without Edison putting up a fight.
At the same time the New York state government was looking for an alternative to hanging. Edison was all in favour of electrocution using AC power, Westinghouse said it would be cruel and unusual punishment and refused to supply a generator so Edison did. For years going to the chair was known as being “Westinghouse”
Sleeplessness’ side effects set in. I think I’ll just lie down for a minute….
Comments
this is a gifted writer. thank you for sharing.
Posted by: susan | June 21, 2007 05:08 PM