And so it begins.
It’s 3am, and guess what time it is? Time to wake up with heartburn and be so disoriented that I cry. It’s this feeling of being jarred back into the world, from what I can only imagine, is deep sleep.
I get this distinct feeling that I no longer existed, that I was dead and there was nothing. And then the tears come, because I will be dead someday. I will be nothing, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. It’s this very specific feeling of soul drowning dread, a feeling that I have only felt, and feel when experiencing extensional angst. Nothing I have ever experienced has such dread associated with it, and it’s a reliable feeling.
This is the anxiety I deal with from time to time that makes me apprehensive and often hate the concept of sleep. I can’t begin to imagine the experience of dealing with this shit when I lived alone in the wee hours of the morning. I remember that I’d simply pace the house, sobbing until I gained my bearings, then fucked off on my computer until I became tired enough (and distracted enough) to sleep again.
Being with someone that I lived with was a great comfort. I could usually nurse myself back to sleep after some time by curling up next to them and feeling less alone. I couldn’t imagine living with a partner who slept in a separate room. That would have felt fecking alienating in several regards.
I had a rather crappy, embarrassing week at work last week. This last weekend was nice, but still very busy on the farm. My neurons have been firing overtime figuring out wedding specifics. Then, I got hit with the intense family drama that wasn’t needed in the slightest. I get that yeah, it’s important and needed to be talked about, blah blah. I’m glad it was discussed.
Emotionally though, I’m pissed. Not because it’s the same old bullshiz, but because it’s 3am and here I am again after so long of not waking up at 3 with intense angst. I can’t blame it all on the situation though, I did end up dozing off on the couch without a blanket on, and the lights on. I usually always feel like shiz waking up like that.
It’s whatever at the end of it all. I’ll keep plugging away being a productive member of society and being the best father I can be. Just know that if I ever disappear, you’ll likely find me dead in a middle of a forest due to walking off a cliff at 3am, disoriented. It’d be the perfect ironic death, trying to get away to relax, but alienated away from society and intense anxiety about the very thing that ends up causing it.
I have much to be grateful for and the only concerns I have is how I choose to interpret things. There’s much truth in that anxiety cannot be “cured” and that treatment shouldn’t focus around this. Rather it’s about becoming comfortable with the sensations, becoming a passive observer of the self to normalize it in an effort to desensitize the neural pathways which cause the panic response.
And well, it’s useful for me to think of it this way. Anxiety is a known thing to me and even while writing this, chalking up my experience 37 minutes ago to it makes it more recognizable. Maybe it could even be categorized as a “night terror”. Name it so you can talk to it, yes?
Why does mental illness affect those with higher intelligence? It’s like god said, “Lolz, I’mma make you SMART, but ya gonna be crippled in other ways so you can’t have too much of a good thing. Gourd luck!”. Or maybe, just maybe, my intelligence was shaped by the need for survival to adapt and overcome childhood trauma.
Who the feck knows. I do know one thing though, and that’s how amazing I feel when first waking up in the morning after a good night’s sleep. I feel the soft blankets on my skin, I glow, I stretch, and I wish to continue dozing off, happily, without a care in the world. I try focusing on this when I don’t want to sleep out of fear. It really can’t be that bad in all actuality then, right?
I’m going to go watch some impossibly perfect fiction that is Disney now that has a warm and soft ending. Goodnight.