offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Insomnia. She's an evil mistress. I thought I had succeeded in abolishing these debilitating bouts of sleeplessness that had haunted me in the past. I thought I had finally gotten myself in to a normal routine where sleep was not something I both desperately craved and feared at the same time. However, this turned out not to be the case.

She returned a few nights ago.

Good old insomnia.

I lay there for hours and hours on end recalling all the tricks of the trade that you can utilise in an attempt to try and quiet a restless mind. I counted. I meditated. I tried to empty my brain of all thoughts. I got up and paced frantically around the room. I tried to read a book. I tried to listen to music but alas the concept of sweet slumber appeared to be nothing more than a fallacy. I guess the one good thing about not being able to sleep is that it frees up some time to do some work. So last night in the small hours, I tackled doing some editing work. For the most part, it served useful despite the fact that I was still anxiously cursing my body for not allowing me to sleep during the process. I'm always asking for more hours in the day but I would also like to sleep.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
I will be frank.

- There are days when you don't wake up because you haven't slept all night.

- You've lost track of what day/month/year it is and all you can feel is a sense of dread as you try to systematically recall what day it was yesterday.

- You wonder if the thud in your chest is caused by your heart beating or your soul trying to escape.

- You find yourself going through the motions despite not knowing how you got from point A to point B because you were internally scolding yourself for not sleeping last night. This is then proceeded by you being mad at yourself for 'self-scolding' because you know it can't be helped.

- You successfully manage to make it out of the door and you wonder 'now what?' and 'is this it?' The best questions seem to consist of two or three words. Each word resembling an injection of antifreeze, a piano falling on your head, a second lost.

- You try to conclude whether you are 'wasting time' or 'losing time' and what the difference is between the two.

- You realise that these were some of the thoughts plaguing your bed the previous night so you try to distract yourself.

- You read a newspaper but each story takes you from one horror to the next and you scour the pages attempting to find something they call 'good news' but you're suddenly at the obituaries and it all seems crystal clear now.

In Sleep

Jun. 27th, 2015 04:00 pm
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
There are lawns here, beneath the sheets.
And endless summers too.
They flicker and roam like the moment when you awake fresh from a dream.
Experiences and images are cultivated and blended together in a comforting sense of bliss.
Sleep: It breathes and pushes life inside of you, a private conception.
A solo acquisition.

This is the paradise, the place where the thorns will not grow.
The sun will taste you with her warm tongue but your skin shall not blister.
The air is sweet here and filled with birdsong and twilight.
'Bring me back.' I say over and over again as my head lays lightly on the pillow.
'Bring me back.' I continue to chant like a private prayer.
It becomes nothing more than a whisper and finally a sigh and then I return.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Everything always looks different at 3 a.m in the morning. The walls seem larger and the soft glow from the lamp casts a different shadow than it did only a few hours previously. Floorboards creak with a less furious tone, as though exhausted with the constant footfall as you pace backwards and forwards trying to squeeze that last thought from your brain so that you can finally rest in peace. Food tastes better. Music sounds much more profound, you can pick out the tones of a singular instrument and allow it to communicate another message. Another language. Muscles ache and the sharp edges blur. We count the many times that we've been here before. It's almost like visiting an old friend.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Sleep has become a stranger but I am more accepting of my flaws. The weeks don't seem to last as long as they used to, it's almost as though Monday follows Monday. I am trying to reconnect with old friends but beginning to realise that I don't have as many as I used to. Maybe that's something that comes with getting older. The heat is stifling and I dream of snow drifts. Too much time is spent wondering 'what if' and not enough time spent being 'pro-active' - whatever that means. I blame the heat. Music and wine seem to provide my only solace. Let's hope I can rest these weary eyes.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Sleep. Holy mothballs, just one block of un-interrupted, deep, healthy sleep would crack this cemented frown and maybe even turn it upside down. Just eight little hours is all I ask and I will be able to move mountains.

Coffee. For when the sleep doesn't work and the brain and limbs need to regain functionality. Black coffee if need be. Hot and filled with jittery, sweat-inducing goodness.

Auditory dessert. More specifically, 'Hunting For Pearls'. The latest iamamiwhoami offering has to be played at least three times a day, I am happy for it to accompany breakfast, lunch and dinner. 'I shackle myself, I risk it all'. Just. So. Damn. Good.

A run in the rain. I normally would not want to go running when the heavens have opened up. There's nothing worse than running through a large puddle and bracing the cold water as it startles the skin on your lower leg. Today however, it would be refreshing. Cleansing even.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
It is in the small hours when the walls close in and the wires in the brain ignite. The perpetual chatter that remained dormant during the day suddenly begins to crawl and scratch beneath the skull and the idea of sleep can only seem like a dream in itself.
The head hits the pillow and the eyes are squeezed shut but the volume of the ticking clock and the babbling of the brain begin to wage a war. It is 2 a.m. Forehead beaded with sweat, heart rages in the chest, it is too warm, it is too cold, the blanket bears heavy, the skin feels furious and screams are forcibly swallowed.
The days events are picked apart and probed in minute and defined detail. Conversations are replayed and the things you wished you had said are rehearsed. But of course, this only serves to make the heart pound faster and the bed grow more uncomfortable.
It is 3 a.m. legs twitch, the body switches position, it is too hot, it is too cold, blood surges through arteries and through veins, eyes are clamped shut, floodgates of thoughts wreak havoc as they snap across synapses. Memories, ideas, guilt, agendas, birthdays, schedules, things to remember, things to forget, important events, things to do before you die, things not to do before you die.
It is 4 a.m. and you admit defeat. It is too late to have anything that will resemble a 'good night's sleep'. The day starts in three hours and you have only just begun scrutinising the tragedies of your first year in high school in the attempt to pin-point exactly where it all went wrong. There is ringing in your ears from the ticking and the tocking of the clock and you have swore to yourself you will smash it to pieces with a hammer in the morning. If only you could... just... get... to... sleep...
It is 5 a.m. there is birdsong. That is the final call. The siren. The denouement. Daylight begins to flicker through the curtains and the exhaustion hangs heavy in your face and bones. You ask yourself 'what was the point?' and you continue the argument while the chirps breed from branch to branch.
It is 6 a.m. Sleep! Victory! It happened! Finally, the eyeballs have rolled back, the heart is now a gentle thud, the muscles un-wring... 7 a.m. The shrill shriek of the alarm rips you away from that peace. You shrug, 'I slept' you tell yourself.

Something is better than nothing.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Dreams are so strange.

They are these surreal nuggets of time when you escape your daily reality only to be thrown head-first into the deepest, darkest, strangest corners of your mind. All perception of time is lost and any sense of 'real life' has lost any comprehension. All that matters is the series of events that take place in this alternate universe and there never seems to be any structure to what occurs. For once, I would like to fall asleep and the opening credits of my dream start to play out. Let's say something similar to the opening credits of 'Friends'. The other occupants of my dream and myself will fool about and dance around a large water fountain to The Rembrandts 'I'll Be There For You' whilst intercut with moments from other dreams. At least I will know the context.

But no, instead I am suddenly flung into a bizarre situation where I am trapped in a maze made out of barbed wire and Barbie heads whilst being chased by a lizard-like version of my mother. Yes, Freud would have a field day and yes, this is based on a real dream. I am instilled with a terrifying sense of impending doom and my feet seem to have been glued to the concrete. As I try to run away, I am suddenly transported to a whole new scenario; an industrial factory. Conveyor belts run the entire length of the room and there are a dozen workers (that I can only describe as faceless mannequins) tending to some goo and metal that is being moved along the conveyor belts. The mannequin workers appear to be laughing as they plunge their hands into the sticky-slimy-product. Something is hilarious and I find myself laughing too. Then I either wake up or I choose to forget the rest. Blurry fragments of a bizarre brain jigsaw. None of it makes any sense and I awake with a momentary sensation of bewilderment. Sometimes, it takes a little longer to return to reality. The dream has left me vulnerable and confused and as the sensation passes, I mostly forget.

I have heard that everyone in our dreams is actually our self and the content is just the brain's way of processing past events. The whole ritual of falling asleep and allowing your brain to revel in eight hours of prime-time weirdness is fascinating and I wouldn't have it any other way.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
When you are sick, life tends to run in slow motion. Hours can feel like days, people seem to be more annoying and when you think you have reached the lowest level or tiredness, some-one pulls a lever and opens a trapdoor beneath your feet and you plummet to a whole new level of exhaustion.

There are benefits however, albeit only a few... You can catch up on the books you have been neglecting to read, you can plan on being hyper-productive when you are feeling better again (but simultaneously knowing that you will find another excuse not to be motivated when you are). You can re-watch old TV shows and analyse/insert your very own subtext. You can attempt sleep and drink whiskey for 'health' benefits. You can give yourself permission to be bitter and angry about the world because you are feeling crappy and people can not argue with you because if they do you will remind them of your chronic suffering. It's not much, but all-in-all there are some redeeming perks of having a cold!


offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Not an Oracle

January 2016


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