hypnogogia

I can't sleep.
Everything is too bright. My eyes won't stay shut, and I'm stuck listening to the low snap of each blink.
My husband breathing.
The cat snoring.
I roll over, and my pillow seems thicker and puffier than it was a moment ago.  Nothing is quite as I remember it.  Still, I'm not exactly sure what has changed-- only that it is not the same.
My mind is dead awake; it's racing, but I can't pick out any particular thoughts.
My stomach aches. I have seven days of treatment left, and already it is tearing my insides out.
My head hurts. My back hurts. To be frank, my whole body feels sore. Sick.
I want more than ever to leave. I'm done here.

soon

They're going to figure it out.  They'll see me for the fraud that I am.

It isn't my fault.  I don't know what else to be, but to pretend to be what I (currently?) am.

They'll figure it out, and then it will all be over.  They are only fragments of a world I made up in my head, and this will be the key to accepting that they aren't real.

Then I'll be alone.

dismissable as paranoia, I suppose....?

Things don't seem "normal."

I don't recognize something I've written as truly being my own.  Everything appears to be some sort of elaborate illusion-- it is all a very close fascimile, but there is some loss in the details.  I can't pinpoint what, exactly, but it's not quite right.

Religion.  Gangs.  History.  Everything I know about people, about science, about anything-- are those real things?  Did that really happen?  Was I really there?

Consequences don't register.  I kicked a hole in the wall the other day, and still am convinced it didn't happen.  The scars on my arm seem like they were placed there, like they are just makeup applied in my sleep.

The monsters in my apartment at night.  I tell myself not to get worked up.  I tell myself it's just the creepypasta stories getting my imagination all revved up.  It's not real; none of it is real.

...am I so sure of that?  How do I tell the difference anymore?  Why have I had these abstract fears of the "other" for so long?  Why does everyone experience that creepiness from time to time?

My whole life, every action, it's all surreal, as though I am merely watching it play out.  I am only an observer here, and everything happens on its own-- if it happens at all.  Am I to believe what my senses are telling me?

And why should I?

I can't seem to accept any evidence with even the slightest bit of certainty.  I remain convinced it is all a lie.

I can't tell if it was constructed by an outside source, or if the whole world around me only exists within the confines of my mind.

I can't quite express this feeling in words; I don't think it's even possible.  Sometimes I'm not sure why I am trying, since there's no use in explaining myself to all the figments of my imagination.

Did I construct all of this?  Did someone else?

weiter weiter ins Gelassenheit

I've been home a couple hours from the gym, and just now have I taken a shower.  It's not that I don't want to be clean-- in fact, like most people, I want the stink and filth of work and exercise off me immediately.

But it's just such a chore.  Undress.  Turn on the water.  Adjust it.  Step in.  Even then, you can't just stand there; you have to get the shampoo in your hair, and soap on the loofah, and rinse the whole mess off.  Don't get me started about toweling afterward.

Even now, I got my unders up to my knees and gave up, sitting bare-assed on the edge of the sofa.

And this is it.  This is the undeniable evidence.  A wave of depression has settled in.  There's no telling how long it will be around, and there isn't much I can do about it, but wait it out.

I've put quite a bit of time and effort into learning about myself, as a patient of mental illness, and simply as a person.  It does not define me exactly, but is a large part of my overall state of being.  I've been trained to look for signs; I'm ever-vigilant of triggers and stressors, all in an elaborate attempt to pre-empt some of the worst possibilities.  I think I do a pretty good job of it.

But if you have arthritis, you have arthritis; you can stretch and exercise and take your anti-inflammatories and joint-essential nutrients, but you still have it, and sometimes it's just going to hurt anyway.  I go through cycles of hypomania and mild-to-moderate depression with some frequency.  I have mood swings.  I have very sudden and very severe flashes of violent rage (which, fortunately, are usually very short-lived).

But sometimes, perhaps twice a year or so, I get depressed in a bad way.  In a draining, aching way.  I'm so tired, but I can't sleep.  I'm so lonely, but I don't want to be around anyone.  I get hungry, but don't really want to eat.

I just want to be sated; I don't want to have to eat.
I just want to be clean; I don't want to have to bathe.
I just want to be rested; I don't want to have to devote hours to sleep.

It's all such a chore.  So difficult.  You'd think I was being asked to count leaves in a rainstorm.

I don't, however, feel hopeless.  Well, sometimes I do, but it's not a lingering feeling.  There are two reasons for this: for one, I don't have the same need for a sense of "purpose" as I have seen many people have.  I'm grateful for this freedom.  As far as I'm concerned, my only purpose in life is to exist, and I do that, so that's pretty much settled.  Even when I feel really, truly horrible about myself, I am still pretty sure that that's my only for-certain job.  I don't put a lot of stock in the future (which is part of why I have trouble with planning...), and that frees up a lot of my worry (which is good, because I have so much worry in the present-moment all the time, I don't really have any to spare on silly things like an uncertain future).

The other is simply that I know this thing passes.  I have "battled" (read: endured) depression several times before.  It's just a waiting game.  I hate that I lose so much time to it, but I accept that, so it's not so bad.

I went to work this morning, and I kept my training appointment at the gym, and I took a shower, and eventually I'll finish putting my underwear on.  And you know?  For one day, that's enough.  I've done enough.

I might be able to do more tomorrow; I might not; no matter what, it will be enough, because I will have done my best in that moment, whatever my best may be.