| Sep 21 2011 |
09/21/11
To my very dearest friends, and now most loyal readers;
I want--again--to offer you my most heartfelt thanks...thanks for being my friends, thanks for understanding me, and acceptingme, thanks for your unending kindness and patience, thanks for your continued readership ( as I would be be less than the sound of a wind chime, heard at a distance, and most faintly in the desert of time ), and...thanks for your dmonstarted love, caring, and for simply...being there for me. For all these things and more, you have my undying gratitude; for...if there is any meaning, beauty, or truth in my loneliness, my pain, and my endless suffering, it is you, my dearest friends.
'Nightmare And Pain'...'Pain And Nightmare': The Evil Twins Of Despair'
Although, my friends, I cannot judge the verasity of it, whether it be from my pain, of from the medications I must regularly use to survive--barely functioning--as an human being, and an adult one at that, I never, ever have pleasant dreams anymore.
Oh, at one time, so long ago now, as to seem vague and ill-recalled, I used to--on occasion--have the most wonderful dreams; dreams that delighted me; dreams that were as little comedies; dreams that caused me to laugh, and to sometimes, even cause me to wake, smiling and happy, now, it my dreams are almost always exercises in torture, from which I often startle awake, sweating, and sorry, and depressed. Often, so much so, that it colored the rest of my day, leaving me feeling odd, out of place, out of synch with the world around me, and perceptively drawn and despairing.
Too many times--now--to count, I take a sleeping aid, to help me bypass some of the pain and get drowsy, until I can no longer hold my hear upright, and must--perforce--lie down ( somewhere ), as it, and the exhaution of the day finally overcomes me.
When I do go to bed--after calling for my dog, Daisy, to come sleep on the carpet beside me, I toss, and turn, trying to find that 'one' spot, wherein I am in slightly less pain, and can tell, from my long exhalations, and sighs, that, having been showered--earlier--by my kind C.N.A., donned in clean pajamas ( yes...my friends, I prefer to wear old-fashioned pajamas to bed ), and, of slipping into a freshly made bed, with clean and cool linens, I lie there, thinking about 'things', while mentally examining by entire body for 'hot spots'.
Mentally, I try to make them be still, to settle down--most hopefully, to abate--so I can more fully relax, and drift off, with the most innocent of prayers being said to a kind Savior, to thank them for all my many blessings, as I warm beneath those clean linens; and, havinf said 'goodnight' to my dog, it is my fond hope ( never realized, anymore ), that--somehow, I will be transported to sleep by gentle angels, who will guard Daisy and I through the long night. And that I will awake calm, able to laze there, enjoying that all too brief phase that occurs just at the precise moment between waking, and sleeping, where the mind can recognize the bedroom, while the body has still to fully wake.
In those blissful 20 seconds or so...NOTHING hurts, and the usually raging mind is quiet, even comtemplative; it may be an animal pleasure, but one--nevertheless--that, when it does happen, I rejoice, and give thanks to my God, for that brief interlude, before the inevitable 'samenesses' of the day begin.
Though I apportion blame to my Lupus/Fibro/Chronic Pain, and of all the medication that I must--perforce take, like so many of you, my dear friends, I no longer sleep well, or longly.
My sleep is always interrupted by a number of things, unknown in the past. Among them are, having once or twice to get up during the night for 'bathroom calls'; waking, suddenly, when I have rolled over to a side where night pain predominates; or, of just waking suddenly, without reason. And I believe that more often than not, it is to sheer nightmare that causes me to bolt upright in bed, confused, and disoriented.
And, within the past year or so, I have noticed a somewhat alarming trend developing: that of my finding myself out in the kitchen, in the office chair that I have there, head upon folded arms, having swept things from the counter to the floor, and of giving it scant notice.
This morning was no different.
I awoke ( at nearly 11:30, this morning ) out in the kitchen at the counter; I did not waken easily, but almost grudgingly came to, at the sound of my telephone ringing. I remember that I mumbled something by way of a reply, and didn't bother to re-cradle the telephone.
I was so cold, that my hands trembled, and I shook as if with chills; my body was cramped, stiff, and sore, with every nerve cell beginning to be lit by fire; I had an heaache so severe, that it pulsed with every beat of my heart; my legs and feet agonized me, and my feet were now edematous from having been dangled there for hours.
Lights were on, everywhere in the house, surely, I must have turned them on. I was so very grateful that--before I had retired to bed--I did manage to lock and secure the doors ! That has not always been the case.
So I ask of you, my dear friends and gentle readers, why cannot I go to bed, return to bed, and stay there, until time to arise ????? And...why is my 'sleep' now peppered with nightmare so intense, that I now dread going to sleep, no matter how tired I am at day's end ???? And...why does it seem, that, while the conscious part of the brain is subdued, and no longer in control, the subconcious, the primitive, the 'Id' part of the brain becomes alive, weaving nightmares that are as a portal into Hell itself ???? While this part seems to have been written pretentiously, artlessly, it is no less than true, as I promised you, my friends and readers, that I would never seek to lie, or to utter purposely untruths in order to mislead, deceive, or dissemble.
Friends, it is now 6:45 PM, here, and I have done NOTHING to either redeem myself, or to 'earn my keep' as an human being. I was hungry, but, not enough to warrant any preparation of food; I do keep hydrated, as I am thirsty all the time; and...I am so tired ( not dreamily sleepy ), but tired in a way that has fully caused me to waste this day, as I waste so many others, for there is a certain, walking, semi-awake, semi-coma that attends many of my days; the ungoverned hours pass all too quickly, and, soon, it will get dark, outside, signalling yet another end to a pointless day. And I HATE it.
I used to be alive, engaging ( I hope), civil ( I hope), working, and interacting with people all the time, while being able to enjoy different hobbies and pursuits as suited me. Now, because of the pain, as I can think of not other, ready reason, I dose up and beyond, as I cannot tolerate this pain, on such a global level, that it frightens me, and incapacitates me.
In my nightmares, places , things, and faces change, bleed into one another, in situations where I am tortured by the purest of evil: faces of my friends, and even of my late mother and father becoming fluid, changing, until they are as monsters; I am chased, attacked by entities who would seek to destroy me; situations of hopelessness, in which I am trapped, for example, in an endless hallway with locked doors on each side, which shrink, and collapse, and from which there is no escape.
Rarely do I have a 'repetitive' nightmare. I haven't had one of those since I was a very yound child.
No...my nightmares are as an endless 'super-plex' of dark theaters, stretching into infinity, whose offerings change nightly. I am dragged down the hall, and forcibly shoved into that night's show.
And while I realize that the role of the subconcious mind--through dreams--acts as a pressure-reliever, mirroring short messages to the conscious brain that of currnet instability, anxiety, relationship, and/or work problems, etc., why can't my subconcious throw to me little bits of happiness, of joy, of awe, of perhaps feeling the 'rightness' of things in daily life ?
And, when the 'remembered' essence of nightmare continues on to color the rest of the morning, sometimes, all day, even, and to conspire to make one feel discomfitted, off-beam, disturbed or preoccupied, then, surely, something must be wrong.
As "Prospero" was suppposed to have said, "What man can remember his dreams ?", I would have to reply, "We ALL do", or at least most of us do.
And so, my most dear, and kind friends, who have faithfully continued to follow my diary, whether you make comment upon it not, I thank you. For it is you, to whom I turn to seek answers, even as I long for validation, your continued support, and encouragement.
Now, as the day winds down like a pocket watch that needs winding, lest it stop, I shall probably end my day by answering a few e-mail that I receive, acknowledge hugs and messages sent to me, maybe watch a few, funny videos that I hope will make me laugh, feed both myself, and Daisy, maybe speak late with a friend, before I ready myself--again--for bed.
Will it be to an uncertain and broken sleep that is never restorative, but typified by the ravening hounds of Hell, rather than that of delight ? Probably.
To you, dearest friends and readers, I can only wish for you painless days, wonderful days, tranquil, quiet, and peaceful evenings, and--of course--nights of dreamy, undisturbed and restful sleep, quite free of monsters, but attended to ny sweet angels, and there, waffed ever so gently by the most gentle of angel's wings; there protected, guarded over, and kept safe through the night. From my heart of hearts, love, 'Zahc/Charles'
To my very dearest friends, and now most loyal readers;
I want--again--to offer you my most heartfelt thanks...thanks for being my friends, thanks for understanding me, and acceptingme, thanks for your unending kindness and patience, thanks for your continued readership ( as I would be be less than the sound of a wind chime, heard at a distance, and most faintly in the desert of time ), and...thanks for your dmonstarted love, caring, and for simply...being there for me. For all these things and more, you have my undying gratitude; for...if there is any meaning, beauty, or truth in my loneliness, my pain, and my endless suffering, it is you, my dearest friends.
'Nightmare And Pain'...'Pain And Nightmare': The Evil Twins Of Despair'
Although, my friends, I cannot judge the verasity of it, whether it be from my pain, of from the medications I must regularly use to survive--barely functioning--as an human being, and an adult one at that, I never, ever have pleasant dreams anymore.
Oh, at one time, so long ago now, as to seem vague and ill-recalled, I used to--on occasion--have the most wonderful dreams; dreams that delighted me; dreams that were as little comedies; dreams that caused me to laugh, and to sometimes, even cause me to wake, smiling and happy, now, it my dreams are almost always exercises in torture, from which I often startle awake, sweating, and sorry, and depressed. Often, so much so, that it colored the rest of my day, leaving me feeling odd, out of place, out of synch with the world around me, and perceptively drawn and despairing.
Too many times--now--to count, I take a sleeping aid, to help me bypass some of the pain and get drowsy, until I can no longer hold my hear upright, and must--perforce--lie down ( somewhere ), as it, and the exhaution of the day finally overcomes me.
When I do go to bed--after calling for my dog, Daisy, to come sleep on the carpet beside me, I toss, and turn, trying to find that 'one' spot, wherein I am in slightly less pain, and can tell, from my long exhalations, and sighs, that, having been showered--earlier--by my kind C.N.A., donned in clean pajamas ( yes...my friends, I prefer to wear old-fashioned pajamas to bed ), and, of slipping into a freshly made bed, with clean and cool linens, I lie there, thinking about 'things', while mentally examining by entire body for 'hot spots'.
Mentally, I try to make them be still, to settle down--most hopefully, to abate--so I can more fully relax, and drift off, with the most innocent of prayers being said to a kind Savior, to thank them for all my many blessings, as I warm beneath those clean linens; and, havinf said 'goodnight' to my dog, it is my fond hope ( never realized, anymore ), that--somehow, I will be transported to sleep by gentle angels, who will guard Daisy and I through the long night. And that I will awake calm, able to laze there, enjoying that all too brief phase that occurs just at the precise moment between waking, and sleeping, where the mind can recognize the bedroom, while the body has still to fully wake.
In those blissful 20 seconds or so...NOTHING hurts, and the usually raging mind is quiet, even comtemplative; it may be an animal pleasure, but one--nevertheless--that, when it does happen, I rejoice, and give thanks to my God, for that brief interlude, before the inevitable 'samenesses' of the day begin.
Though I apportion blame to my Lupus/Fibro/Chronic Pain, and of all the medication that I must--perforce take, like so many of you, my dear friends, I no longer sleep well, or longly.
My sleep is always interrupted by a number of things, unknown in the past. Among them are, having once or twice to get up during the night for 'bathroom calls'; waking, suddenly, when I have rolled over to a side where night pain predominates; or, of just waking suddenly, without reason. And I believe that more often than not, it is to sheer nightmare that causes me to bolt upright in bed, confused, and disoriented.
And, within the past year or so, I have noticed a somewhat alarming trend developing: that of my finding myself out in the kitchen, in the office chair that I have there, head upon folded arms, having swept things from the counter to the floor, and of giving it scant notice.
This morning was no different.
I awoke ( at nearly 11:30, this morning ) out in the kitchen at the counter; I did not waken easily, but almost grudgingly came to, at the sound of my telephone ringing. I remember that I mumbled something by way of a reply, and didn't bother to re-cradle the telephone.
I was so cold, that my hands trembled, and I shook as if with chills; my body was cramped, stiff, and sore, with every nerve cell beginning to be lit by fire; I had an heaache so severe, that it pulsed with every beat of my heart; my legs and feet agonized me, and my feet were now edematous from having been dangled there for hours.
Lights were on, everywhere in the house, surely, I must have turned them on. I was so very grateful that--before I had retired to bed--I did manage to lock and secure the doors ! That has not always been the case.
So I ask of you, my dear friends and gentle readers, why cannot I go to bed, return to bed, and stay there, until time to arise ????? And...why is my 'sleep' now peppered with nightmare so intense, that I now dread going to sleep, no matter how tired I am at day's end ???? And...why does it seem, that, while the conscious part of the brain is subdued, and no longer in control, the subconcious, the primitive, the 'Id' part of the brain becomes alive, weaving nightmares that are as a portal into Hell itself ???? While this part seems to have been written pretentiously, artlessly, it is no less than true, as I promised you, my friends and readers, that I would never seek to lie, or to utter purposely untruths in order to mislead, deceive, or dissemble.
Friends, it is now 6:45 PM, here, and I have done NOTHING to either redeem myself, or to 'earn my keep' as an human being. I was hungry, but, not enough to warrant any preparation of food; I do keep hydrated, as I am thirsty all the time; and...I am so tired ( not dreamily sleepy ), but tired in a way that has fully caused me to waste this day, as I waste so many others, for there is a certain, walking, semi-awake, semi-coma that attends many of my days; the ungoverned hours pass all too quickly, and, soon, it will get dark, outside, signalling yet another end to a pointless day. And I HATE it.
I used to be alive, engaging ( I hope), civil ( I hope), working, and interacting with people all the time, while being able to enjoy different hobbies and pursuits as suited me. Now, because of the pain, as I can think of not other, ready reason, I dose up and beyond, as I cannot tolerate this pain, on such a global level, that it frightens me, and incapacitates me.
In my nightmares, places , things, and faces change, bleed into one another, in situations where I am tortured by the purest of evil: faces of my friends, and even of my late mother and father becoming fluid, changing, until they are as monsters; I am chased, attacked by entities who would seek to destroy me; situations of hopelessness, in which I am trapped, for example, in an endless hallway with locked doors on each side, which shrink, and collapse, and from which there is no escape.
Rarely do I have a 'repetitive' nightmare. I haven't had one of those since I was a very yound child.
No...my nightmares are as an endless 'super-plex' of dark theaters, stretching into infinity, whose offerings change nightly. I am dragged down the hall, and forcibly shoved into that night's show.
And while I realize that the role of the subconcious mind--through dreams--acts as a pressure-reliever, mirroring short messages to the conscious brain that of currnet instability, anxiety, relationship, and/or work problems, etc., why can't my subconcious throw to me little bits of happiness, of joy, of awe, of perhaps feeling the 'rightness' of things in daily life ?
And, when the 'remembered' essence of nightmare continues on to color the rest of the morning, sometimes, all day, even, and to conspire to make one feel discomfitted, off-beam, disturbed or preoccupied, then, surely, something must be wrong.
As "Prospero" was suppposed to have said, "What man can remember his dreams ?", I would have to reply, "We ALL do", or at least most of us do.
And so, my most dear, and kind friends, who have faithfully continued to follow my diary, whether you make comment upon it not, I thank you. For it is you, to whom I turn to seek answers, even as I long for validation, your continued support, and encouragement.
Now, as the day winds down like a pocket watch that needs winding, lest it stop, I shall probably end my day by answering a few e-mail that I receive, acknowledge hugs and messages sent to me, maybe watch a few, funny videos that I hope will make me laugh, feed both myself, and Daisy, maybe speak late with a friend, before I ready myself--again--for bed.
Will it be to an uncertain and broken sleep that is never restorative, but typified by the ravening hounds of Hell, rather than that of delight ? Probably.
To you, dearest friends and readers, I can only wish for you painless days, wonderful days, tranquil, quiet, and peaceful evenings, and--of course--nights of dreamy, undisturbed and restful sleep, quite free of monsters, but attended to ny sweet angels, and there, waffed ever so gently by the most gentle of angel's wings; there protected, guarded over, and kept safe through the night. From my heart of hearts, love, 'Zahc/Charles'
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