"Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot rest?
'Tis that every mother's son
Travails with a skeleton."
-- A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad
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| Self portrait 7-30-13 |
"The longest way must have its close --
the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning."
-- Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
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| Self portrait (2) 7-30-13 |
"Might there come a time
When we stand over a grave
And mourn ourselves?
Mourn the past, a previous life?
Shall we weep for the passing of time?
Shall we grieve for unfulfilled dreams?
In my naivety; in my belief
In immortal youth,
I sleep walk through life.
Someone ... wake me up.
Please.
Wake me up.”
-- Samantha Young, Slumber
Today could potentially be kind of a big deal.
Today I am driving to a city about an hour and a half away, to a hospital with a sleep disorders center, to meet with a specialist who deals with chronic insomnia, to maybe, possibly, lay my sleep troubles to rest.
I am cautiously, tentatively optimistic.
Today could be the start of something good.
It could be a step towards living again, towards reclaiming my life, which feels like it has been circling the drain for months -- dying a slow death, too exhausted and too wasted from sleep deprivation to do much else.
I've read and learned enough about insomnia to understand that a permanent, non-pharmaceutical solution won't be easy and will probably involve a lot of hard work and effort.
I'm prepared for that.
The bright, hopeful side of me is, anyway.
I think.
I am also realistically, skeptically wary.
Today could big a big flop.
The specialist could tell me that a permanent, non-pharmaceutical solution is an impossible dream as she hands over a prescription and laughs like a cartoon villain. Bwaaa haaa haaa!
The specialist could simply say "You're fucked."
I'm prepared for that, too.
The darker, cynical, jaded side of me is, anyway.
Either way, I have to at least try.
And I will. Try.
Because I want insomnia to be something I once had.
I want it to be a memory.
A bad dream that I was forced to stay awake for.
A visitor that came and way, way way overstayed its welcome, but ultimately left.
I want it dead.
A ghost.
A skeleton.
I want it, and me, to rest in peace.
