I have been sick lately and am on a second course of antibiotics. Oddly, I have been feeling unusually happy. Elated, even. It made me wonder if the bacteria throwing a rave in my guts were infecting me with happiness. I was half-expecting for my happy feelings to go away immediately upon starting the new antibiotics. It didn't. I went on being happy.
Then today I woke up late. Very, very late. It's a Saturday and I didn't have to work, so it didn't matter... except to me. When I sleep until 1 pm, it makes me feel like a real loser. I don't mean to do it, I simply don't wake up.
When I do finally wake up of my own accord, my eyelids pull themselves open without my consent. It's like I can't stop them, even though I still feel sleepy and want to keep my eyes closed, keep sleeping. They just pry themselves open even though it feels like torture. And then I stare out the window. Sometimes I forget that I am a grown-up and I think I am a child again, especially when it's sunny like it was today and the sun is glistening off the tree leaves waving in the wind outside my bedroom. I think for a second that it's summer vacation and the world is waiting for me to go out and play and dream about my future. Then I remember, unfortunately, that it IS the future, and I better get my ass up and in gear if I ever want to make something of my life. Then I realize that it's 1 pm, and once again, I'm sleeping my life away.
My sleep patterns didn't use to be such a problem when I was younger. They were still messed up, but I could use them to my advantage. I had a second shift job and I could stay up all night and sleep all day, which I did. I was writing on my ancient laptop fueled by Dr. Pepper and Waffle Crisp cereal, go out for a walk just before the sun came up, and went home to sleep when it got too bright outside. That felt allright to me. It felt comfortable. I had made myself a little den, a bed, in my closet. There was a large dresser in it that just barely fit. I padded the top with some foam and blankets and that was my bed. It was a cozy little den, nice and dark during the day. It felt normal for me to hole up in a little space during the day to sleep.
But now I've been properly conditioned enough to understand that I ought to be up at a reasonable hour so I can GET SHIT DONE. Oftentimes though, when I do wake up so late, I am really convinced that I had important shit to get done, but I can't remember what.
I felt very upset at myself for getting up so late and not having enough time to do those important things that I couldn't remember. Also, since it had been 16 or so hours since I last sucked on my electronic cigarette, I was sorely in need of nicotine. So I cried for a while. I cried in anger, sadness, and some self-pity. I tried to hide from my fiance but was unsuccessful. He found me sniffing and shaking and wiping my eyes. So of course he had to offer the obligatory "what's wrong" stuff. I don't blame men for thinking women are nuts. We are.
I vaped for a while and felt much better. See, it was just the lack of nicotine. All better now. I decided that I wanted to go back to feeling happy. Sometimes I do think it's that simple: just deciding.
I remember reading a book about quitting cigarettes that came highly, highly regarded. Chapter after chapter was just a whole lot of bullshit about how amazingly effective his technique was, how many thousands of people had quit with his method, that it was the easiest method out there, arguing why other methods don't work, on and on and on he went like that. But he wasn't saying WHAT his technique was, until the very end. And the magical sure-fire technique that he had been espousing? It was essentially "Just stop smoking cigarettes."
I wonder how the mental health community would react if someone were to write a book like that for depression. Or for anxiety, or OCD, or really any mental health issue. Just write the first 99% of the book about the effectiveness of your technique, and then at the very end, reveal the technique as "Just stop X destructive behaviour. Just stop." Like, just stop being depressed and decide to be happy. Just decide that you won't worry so much anymore. Just decide that you are not OCD and don't have to do any of those behaviours anymore.
I think people would find that extremely insulting. I've heard it many times that you can't just "snap out" of depression. I know that to be true. Trust me, I wished that I could many times. I don't know what it is, but suddenly in the last few months of my life, I feel as though I DO have the control to "just stop." I feel as though I have simply made the DECISION to be happy. I have no idea if I am thinking this way because I am no longer depressed, or if I'm no longer depressed because I am thinking this way. I would like to believe the latter, of course. We all like to believe that we have control over ourselves, and our own destinies. So, that's what I'm going with.
Sometimes the best solutions are the simplest.
OR, maybe I got infected with something that changed my brain chemistry.
No comments:
Post a Comment