S acorn's diary
2006-10-11 - there is no magic pill

I had a waking nightmare Friday night. You must know about: we have a huge painting over our bed - it's a stretched canvas about four feet wide and four and a half feet high, no frame, hanging about a foot and a half above the bed, kinda like a floating headboard. (It's a painting of a piece of art Prince had in his basement in Purple Rain: a woman's eyes, nose and mouth, very minimalist. Half white, half purple. It's in the basement scene when Prince is making out with Appolonia, if you are interested in checking it out. Amor painted it himself years before we got together, when I knew him back in college.) Anyway, the nightmare: I was in a hotel in Europe and it was pitch black, I couldn't see a thing. I was scared, and had to get out of that room somehow. I was feeling my way along the wall and found a window, so I tried to push it open. I saw on the window painted lips, and was surprised because it looked so much like the lips from the painting in our bedroom back home. Well, I continued to lift the window open, then it wouldn't work right. That's when I woke up with the painting resting on my head. I was kneeling on the bed, facing the wall, the lower edge of the painting in my hands. -----> in my efforts to open the window, I was really pushing the painting off its position on the wall, and it fell onto my head.

That was really trippy.

I can't fall asleep with the light off, ever since that dream. I have to have the door cracked to let in some light. The dark scares me more now than it used to. I've always been afraid of the dark.

Amor thinks I'm crazy and is a little worried about me. He thought the dream was unbelievably weird, but he wasn't surprised.

I haven't sleep-walked since I was in 3rd grade. I used to do it a lot back then. I used to talk in my sleep a lot, too, back then.


I've got to be straight with you about something else: Starting with the first night of ACL up to the plane-ride back from Europe, I took prescription Xanax every night to "help me sleep", as my dr. told me I could do. It did, it helped me sleep. (It was only .5 mg)

Well, after we got back from Europe, I stopped taking it cold turkey. The last time I took it was a week ago, Tuesday. Then the migraine set in Friday night and didn't stop until Monday. I felt a sickness I'd never felt before. I felt like I was going crazy a little. I'm not saying I was addicted, and I'm not saying that I went thru withdrawal from that nasty drug, but the thoughts did go through my head a few times, and then a few times more. I'm thinking that's where my migraine and vomiting came from. Monday night, after the headache left me, I was so weak, and felt like I'd gone to hell and back, like I'd run a marathon with a paper bag over my head, improperly hydrated.

Has anyone had to wean themselves off xanax before, or known anyone who has? I can't believe I took it every night for two and half weeks, it was just so easy to pop the pill and be done with the day, you know? And my doctor had prescribed it to me, to help me go to sleep. So that made me think it was OK.

I'm so sensitive to things. Leave it to me to get physiologically addicted to .5 mg xanax after taking it for just 2 and half weeks. People take up to 4 mg, I read that on the internet.

Do you hate me for taking this drug? Do you judge me? Am I a weak person?

Sleep has never come easily to me, never. I've had insomnia since I can remember. As a child, I used to wander the house nights, so many times I remember doing this. Even when I had sleep-overs at friends' houses - I used to go room to room and look at everyone sleeping because I was bored. Yeah, that's creepy, but I didn't do it in a creep way. I was bored, a little kid that couldn't sleep.

I knew it was too good to be true: relief in pill form.

I get desperate sometimes.


And then the paper.

Oh, the friggin' paper.

I've done nothing at all. I was supposed to work on it last night, but spent the entire evening in the kitchen, making my chili from scratch. I carved up an entire 9 pound pork shoulder to one-inch cubes of meat. It felt really good, I worked up a sweat and got a blister where the pointer finger on my right hand meets the palm - from the knife. I had to turn on the fan to cool me down.

I realized I hadn't cooked in so long, and I really, really love cooking and being in the kitchen. The chili turned out great, Amor nearly had a conniption, he had really missed my cooking, too. I made this cornbread to die for: I lined the pan with a thick layer of butter before I poured in the batter, so the edges of the cornbread came out all crusty brown and crunchy. It was GOOD.

I figure, I can afford to take this time to re-group myself. I've got things happening with my paper, I'm not freaking out like I used to. Remember that? I think you're going to be as happy as I am when I finish the damn thing, because you won't have to hear me bitch about my paper or the professor.

And tonight's L0ST, yessssssss.

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