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I'm not at all sure why, but good, solid sleep has really become a premium for me. Over the last week I've had times where I have almost dreaded going to sleep at all. So I'm averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night and that means I've got a very short wick; which I then dangle around three little sparks all day long! And to top this off, it gives me the nastiest headaches in the world.
Despite being 40 now I still think I could lift my old truck and tip it completely over, so I've got that and the headaches going for me now.
Their are two consistent thoughts or issues that are prevailent during this time. One is a larger sense of my own mortality, but being 40 and working a job I truly never imagined I would be doing at this stage of my life makes that thinking easy. I can elaborate later on that because I've always had thoughts like this about mortality, so this isn't anything new.
What primarily bothers me is that I an still sorting out the mess that was my mother. I just keep playing so many of the negative things that she did, or in many cases didn't do, to me or for me. It is an exhausting but neccessary step that I have to take so I can move forward. But every time I do this, I go right back to the time these things happened and the original feelings of doubt, oppression, fear, loathing, hate, and even misanthropy all just crawl back under my skin and paralyze me. And I sit there watching these scenes play out and I see the damages they caused at the time--who they hurt, who those that were hurt then hurting others (myself included)-- and seeing this modeled as correct behavior.
It didn't matter if it was me getting beaten with motorcycle helmets or baseball bats, having lighter fluid thrown on me and then chased with a lighter, or buying liquor and paying for hair appointments so she could seduce a married co-worker (who happened to be the older brother of one of my closer friends in high school---- yeah HUGE issue there alone!!) while we were getting thrown out of places to live,. to the many hurtful and venomous things she would say to me and my sisters.
Right about that time I begin to wonder how much the mustakes I've made in my life are a direct result of all that and how I was cheated out of an early adulthood and the poor choices that still affect me to this day. It's usally at this point that my own mortality has found a way to seep through my melon and point out that the wasted time IS valuable because life is short and mine isn't getting any younger!
Is it know wonder then that I end up tossing and turning and trying to shake these thoughts and the corresponding images out of my mind so I can sleep, but it takes alot of time and more meds than I want to be taking. I take the meds because they do calm me down, but unfortunately they are becoming less effective.
So I'll get to go into the next morning with all that still freshly lingering in my head like the hungover bass sound you can't get rid of from that dance club you got wasted at the previous night. Somehow I have to fight on alone, through it, and raise my kids to never know any of that could happen to them and try to keep up with the house while I can.
