The good drugs.

I skipped the clonazepam last night.

You’d think that a drug that makes you drowsy would not cause problems when taking it night, but paradoxically, it is.  Sure, it puts me to sleep, and I sleep like a rock, but I’m sleeping ten hours and still feeling exhausted, and I’m groggy in the morning, and it’s almost a hung over sort of feeling, and I can’t do that every single day.  I just can’t.  I’d tried taking it earlier in the evening.  That hadn’t solved the problems of the morning, and meant I spent the evening falling asleep.  I thought about taking only half a pill, but last night I decided that why do things halfway?  I forwent (as an aside, there has got to be a better past tense for “forgo,” because that sounds wrong, just less wrong than “forgoed,” which I think is surely wrong) it entirely.

It was an experience.

I slept much lighter than I had been.  And while I can’t remember much of anything I’m reasonably sure I was dreaming a lot.  This is a big thing, since apparently, according to my researches, clonazepam suppresses REM-sleep, which would be why I’m sleeping like the dead and yet so exhausted in the morning.  A little before 3:30 I woke up, very suddenly, as though something had startled me awake.  If anything, I suspect something I was dreaming.  Wide awake, I tossed and turned for a little, reached over for my iPod and checked my email and answered an email to my sister who works the night shift.  This is neither Florence nor Mongoose, but… hm.  I shall henceforth refer to her as Cortana, because she will kick your ass at Halo.  She would certainly kick my ass at Halo, anyway.
I then rolled over and attempted to sleep again.  And this is where things got odd.

I’m not sure how much I actually slept, because for the remainder of the night I was aware of being in a bed, but it was very confused.  I seem to have been in a dreaming state for much of it, despite the fact that I can’t be sure I was asleep.  Some of the time I was aware I was in my own bed, while at other times I was sure I was in the bed in my basement room in the house we lived in when I was in high school.  For much of the night there was something beside me, either our old cat Samantha, curled up beside my head and purring (and it was distinctly her, and not, say, my mother’s cat Grace who occasionally slept with me when I lived with my mother),  and at other times it was our dog Tilly, a border collie/blue heeler cross who was fond of sleeping in bed with me despite the fact that she understood perfectly well that while I would let her up beside me it was not actually allowed, stretched out beside me  and occasionally disturbing me by scratching an itch behind her head.  Both of these animals are dead, now, Tilly a few years ago of kidney failure, and Sam some years earlier of a stroke, both of them living into arthritic old age.  At other points, I was aware of my own bed and my own room, but my sense of spatial awareness was skewed strangely, my head and hands huge, or myself tiny and my pillow huge.  I was aware of a strange throbbing in the air around me, a pulsing that seemed to come up through the floor and vibrate through the bed and into me.  At one point my mattress began to undulate under me, violently.  Maybe like a water-bed with someone vigorously jiggling it?

And I can’t swear to having been asleep for any of it.  And except for the undulating mattress, none of it bothered me to any particular degree.

Maybe I should be more worried about this than I am, but I can’t really bring myself to be concerned.  I’m perfectly aware of the fragile nature of our own sense of reality, and how very little it can take to cause a hallucination.  I”m also well aware that there is a state of mind between full sleep and full waking in which it’s possible to “dream” while still partially awake.  And if my REM-sleep has been suppressed lately… who’s to say it’s not just kicking into overdrive?  Is that possible?  I’ve had experiences like this before, too, although not nearly on this scale.

On the other hand, it may just have been very vivid and very weird dreaming, and my dreams have always tended towards the vivid and the weird.

I was groggy in the morning, but not like I have been.  Tired, but like I said, I can’t swear to how much I actually slept after waking at 3:30.

But I feel rested in a way that I haven’t been all week.  I will try this again and see how it goes.  And on Friday, I will confess to my doctor that I’ve been screwing with the recommended dosage.  Awesome.

I had a wonderful conversation with my father on the phone last night, too.  My father struggles, a little, to understand all this.  I may have said so.  But I love our conversations, that can cycle around from science fiction to things we find fascinating about the way we dream to music to technology to the roots and reasons for various racial traits, science and philosophy and religion and everything that fascinates us.  And like my father, I am fascinated by nearly everything.

Last night he said two things of note to me.

I think I’ve said that my mother is very anxious, and admits to it, about my being on clonazepam.  I said so to my father, and he had a very different point of view.  Some years back, he had a kidney stone.  When he was going through this, he took what the doctor offered and described as “the good drugs.”  And yes, these were the sorts of drugs that were powerful, that could invite abuse, but my father took them.  And they made things better, because he could get over the pain and get on with his life and work on getting better.  And as he sees it, and as I’m starting to see it, the clonazepam is the same way.  It’s a painkiller for my brain, and it’s temporary, but it will help me get better.

(One of my roommates, who I shall refer to as, ahh…. Audrey, for her love of classic movies and Audrey Hepburn, because who cannot love Audrey Hepburn… anyway, she said to me when I was telling her what’s going on that I, unlike herself, don’t have an addictive personality.  My father has said the same thing about himself, and it’s certainly true in his case, so this is possibly an encouraging thought.)

The second thing my father said was a quote, or possibly a misquote (knowing Dad) from a movie I have never heard of but that my father happened to see on television the other night.

“The gods don’t make life easy for us.”

And this is very true.

He went on to add just how good it feels to overcome the difficulties.  And this is also true.

I have had, variously on my desk or near my desk for the last five years, a small, poor-quality brass statue of Ganesha.  One of the several things he’s named as is the Lord of Obstacles.  He removes obstacles, but he also places them where they need to be.

And sometimes — and this is why I’ve kept this little figurine, because I need sometimes to remind myself of these things — those obstacles need to be there, so that we can overcome them and be stronger.

This is what I’m hoping, anyway.

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