NOTE: I wrote this late last night before my computer contracted a virus that looked like a virus protection program and would not allow me to access the internet. For once, I did not feed it so much power that it necessitated wiping of my computer, and got rid of it after three hours of bumbling this morning. I'm insanely proud of this.
It's midnight, and I'm afraid. Not of shadows, or ghosts, or psycho murderers for once, though. Well, okay, I'm still a LITTLE afraid of ghosts and psycho murderers. I mean, c'mon, who isn't? You can't even fight back with ghosts! Unless you have a Proton Pack, of course. But that's not my main fear for once.
I'm afraid to go to bed. More particularly, I'm afraid of trying to sleep. Now, let me preface this by saying that I'm no stranger to insomnia. I have memories throughout my childhood of staring at my alarm clock, computing how many hours of sleep I could get if I fell asleep RIGHT THEN, and getting ever more frantic (and thus more awake) as the number of hours shrank throughout the night. It's not the funnest problem in the world (especially when I had early morning seminary back in high school), but I've learned tricks over the years to make my brain stop worrying and relax enough that my exhaustion can finally take over. And, for the most part, I haven't had half a bad a time with it since being married--McKay's breathing is as soothing than any white noise machine to me. (Random side note: Sleep talking episode from a couple nights ago: ME: What book are you listening to? MCKAY: He just cleaned the chimney. . . ME: [extremely loud laughter] MCKAY: You're crazy, why are you laughing?? Chim-chiminy . . .)
The last two nights have been like nothing I've ever experienced, though, in all my years of battling insomnia. It wasn't so much that my brain was whirring like crazy, like a computer that's been on too long and overheated, it was more like it was frozen. Every thought I would have would freeze there, demanding immediate attention, and impossible to disregard. Itches that could normally be easily ignored felt like the most important thing in the world. One line of a song would play in my brain, over and over and over, but in a way that didn't feel the normal song-stuck-in-head annoyance. It was like I was incapable of thinking anything else, like it was forced there maliciously by some outside force. I desperately tried not to think of my nails, because every time I did, I had the insane urge to rip them off -- ME, who can't even stand the thought of biting nails! Or blood! I cried multiple times through the night, sure that this was what going insane felt like.
Two nights ago, when this first happened, I was trying to go to bed before 2 AM for once. McKay said he missed me, and I was feeling semi-sleepy. I went to bed at midnight, and finally fell asleep after four of the scariest insomnia hours I've ever had. Not that the quantity of four hours of sleeplessness was unheard of for me, just the quality of it. But I took comfort in the fact that it was probably a fluke.
Last night I went to bed at eleven. By seven AM, I was nearly frantic and pretty sure I would be incapable of sleep for the rest of my life. I came downstairs, and got two glorious hours of sleep on the couch.
So, now, nighttime is full of terror for me. Again, not from zombies, nor from killer klowns from outer space (awesome terrible movie, by the by), or even Reavers.
I'm afraid of me. Of my mind trying to destroy me for reasons unknown.
END NOTE: After collapsing in bed at 1:30 AM last night, I slept blissfully well. I'm still a little afraid of my brain trying to kill me, though.
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