A muzzy fuzzy day

This will be a short post.  Last night was a “mixed state” night.  I will fill you in at length on what a “mixed state” is in another post, but suffice it to say on this extremely fuzzy, muzzy day that it required a noxious cocktail of medications to get me settled down to the point where I could lie down in my bed.  Finally, after enough drugging, I fell into what might be categorized as sleep.  I often wonder what these drug induced episodes of somnolence look like on EEG.  I no longer have the inside connections that would make it possible to spend a night in a sleep lab just for fun, to see what it does in fact look like in EEG-land, so I guess that will stay in imagination-land.

Noga the dog-a woke me up at 11 am, having very patiently sublimated the needs of her bowels and bladder in my service until then.  I staggered to the door and let her out.  She bolted into the yard.  Her Lhasa Apso face radiated AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! as she relieved herself, then trotted gaily in for her morning cuddle.  Normally she wants cuddles first, outside second, and only if I come too.  But today she had outdone herself waiting for me to wake up.

It was good that she forced me to haul my carcass out of the bed.  Otherwise I might have slept all day and then had to deal with THAT tonight.  Sleep hygiene is critical in my disease management.  It’s one of the reasons I don’t hang out with people in the evenings, other than the fact that I don’t like most people.  But even if I DID enjoy other people’s company I would still have to go home at 9 pm to start my bedtime medication sequence and preparations for drug-induced sleep.

My sleep-drug induction sequence is negotiated between myself and my neuropsychiatrist, who puts a great deal of trust in my judgement.  My Ph.D. psychotherapist, who works alongside my shrink to keep me right-side-up, assures me that he is not that way with everyone.  This does give me a modicum of pride, in that he trusts me to twiddle with these potentially dangerous drugs and self-regulate in this way.  But he tells me that the actual doses I am using are so piddlingly small that it’s virtually impossible to get into trouble with them.

Nevertheless I feel a bit like Elvis or Michael Jackson, with this sort of anesthetic induction sequence that I use.  Except I don’t use narcotics, or Propofol, or any of the big nasties that they used.  But I tell you right now that I entirely understand why they did what they did.  The tremendous high energy that fueled their creativity had to have had a good dose of mania rocket fuel to it, and that chases sleep way, way far away.  And yet, after a certain point, the body and the mind become so exhausted that they will do literally anything for sleep, blessed sleep!

At more than one point in my life I have decided that perhaps it would be a good thing to simply acknowledge the fact that I am not a good sleeper, and work at night.  That’s fine, I’m a good night worker.  My clearest thinking and my best creative work happen between one and four in the morning.  There’s only one problem:   I can’t sleep in the daytime either.  So I would go along for a while, whizzing through my nights and spending my days lying in bed in a stupor, yet awake, until something would happen to interrupt that cycle.  For instance, my immune system might be the one to violently object, resulting in pneumonia.  Or I might get utterly disgusted with my boss and quit my job.  Or I might decide that I hated the part of the country I lived in, and move to the opposite coast.

In between, there might be all kinds of havoc of more minor varieties, such as relationship dramas, parking on the wrong side of the street and having to spend a sleepless day dealing with getting the car out of wherever they had towed it, and things like that.  I’m not sure any of it was actually abnormal.

But eventually, inexorably, these episodes of sleeplessness would slide down the slippery slope into the black hole of depression of the major sort.

And that is why I must, must, must stay vigilant on the sleep hygiene front.

And I am so fuzzy today from last night’s pharmacologic assault….I hope tonight is better.

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  1. D'Alta

     /  October 27, 2011

    Hope tonight is better, too.

  2. I love dogs!! I had a wonderful miniature schnauzer, Max, who’s now in doggie heaven. He was sent from God because he saved my life a couple of times — literally!! Being bipolar, as well as having other mental and emotional illnesses, I know the sleep problem — a big one for me. At one point in this illness I was actually sleeping too much — which was rare. God bless Max, he was SOOOOO good, because I simply couldn’t wake up and take him outside and he held it in until I could!! He was crossing his legs (ha!!) but he never once let himself go inside our apartment!!! I’m so glad you have a dog to help you and love you!! I would love to have one — couldn’t stand the thought of another one for years after Max died — but I simply can’t afford the price for food, grooming, heartworm pills (which are necessary every month where I live) and physically I don’t think at this point in my life I could walk him several times a day every day. I miss my Max so much!! Living alone has it’s great advantages, but living alone with no one to love on and to have them love on me back is really hard, especially since I’m a physical-touchy person!!

    I bookmarked your blog a while back, but had several others to read before I got to yours. My OCD makes me have to start at the beginning and move forward, so it may take me a while, but I’ll catch up to the present. I have no doubt that I’ll begin following you because you’re a great writer!!

    God bless you!!


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