Grandma you are wrong. The answer to sleeping isn't counting sheeps, but I'll forgive because you're an old fashion lady. Plus I find it rather cute when I imagine you counting sheeps when you try to sleep. But you see, counting sheeps doesn't help and I can't seem to keep up with the damn numbers. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 11, uh what the fuck...where am I up to again? I wonder who came up with the stupid idea of counting sheeps anyway. Fuck. Now I'll have to get up and google this. The monitor is blinding. It's actually more work trying to keep track of whatever the fuck number you're on than to just settle and be a cabbage for the night. What haven't I done out of desperation. Great, now my head hurts because my memory has been shit. I don't really know what to blame that on to be honest. It maybe because I try not to think too much and slowly my brain has become dysfunctional. I didn't want to believe those pricks who preach that education should always be continuous. If you've been out of school for too long, you'll never go back. Fuck it, I don't want to believe it. Not until I really try and ultimately fail, then I may come to terms with it. I'm still holding on by a string but not going for it entirely because trying actually means I'll find out once and for all if I'm actually hopeless after all. It's already on my to do list. Now I just have to grow some balls and actually do it.

In the other hand, it may be the excessive ambien use, or the nights when I forget and take a couple more like it's candy. I'm addicted, but I'm more addicted to the idea of actually having a piece of mind that I'll be able to sleep and not think to myself staring at the ceiling until the sunrises. Not that morning would make a difference, it'd just be annoyingly bright. I'm never fully asleep or awake. If somehow I live long enough, I wonder whats the next 20 years of my life going to be like. Thoughts that preoccupy most of my days is "how am I going to get to sleep tonight?" Well, I don't want to spend my entire fucking day worrying about how I'm going to sleep. It's a natural process, I should be able to do it. Sleep is my handicap. Just go the fuck to sleep. Not working.

It simply started with me trying her prescription. It was fucking magic. I've never been put out like that, sleep whenever you want? What the hell? Best thing since sliced bread. It's my cure for cancer. She never fought me about it either, mostly because she was never around or had the time to confront me. She knew I was doing it, I just gave her constant excuses of how it'll help me get my life together. It didn't, it just helped me get through the day knowing, "If I just get through this shit, at least I can call it a day", then shut myself off at my convenience. Fucking perfect.

Then there was the night I broke down, I called her. And you can bet I freaked the fuck out. I was hysterical. Just jabbering on about how I can't take it anymore. She told me she couldn't enable me anymore. That she realized shes helping me kill myself. I hated her and resented her so much, for not buying into my bullshit. She said I needed help or at least go in for a check up. It went from screaming and anger to crying. Both of us. I haven't seen you cry in a long time. I don't know if I cried because it was the first time since I was hospitalized that she showed she cared about me, its been 6 years since then. Or if I was crying because I resented her and most of what I can think about is how can she do this to me. How can she let me stay in this hell, this shithole I dug myself into. I did this to myself, but what haven't I tried. I finally found an answer but it wasn't the solution.



But hey, guess what? I still fucking love you. You just don't know it.

I guess it's kind of like men who have sex without a condom for the first time. They never want to use it again after that experience but that's how you fuck your life up. Kids, ew. Well, in my case, I had my first taste, found a temporary cure but it fucked me over anyway. Kids without the kids! I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

After a week of cleaning, yes cleaning and you know what that means. Apocalypse now. I finally got hauled off to the doctor. I've always avoided doctors, I was registered under my pediatrician since I was 5 until I was 20, hah. He still doesn't know anything about me. You're a good man, just stop trying to give me tylenol for everything. The man would give me tylenol if I showed up in his office with a bullet right in me. Stop patronizing me because of age, life or future. It's already fucked up. The last thing he said to me was "Wow, you've really grown into a women now." And that was the last time I saw him. I'm such an asshole, I should have bought him some chocolates or whatever doctors enjoy eating. Organic chocolates? Spinach and caviar? Who the hell knows.

I transferred to one of those ancient doctors who should have checked out long ago, but it's ok, we won't be seeing eachother much. He's this old man that's always nodding and repeatedly saying "hokay...mhm.." then sighed occasionally nodding his head. I still wonder if he knows what the fuck I'm trying to tell him half the time. It's impersonal, but it's ok. I'm not trying to be your best friend, just fix me. At least physically. So I got a referral. Lo and behold, I got put on the same shit. It's ok, it was what I was aiming for anyway, but I've been looking for something different. These pills aren't working anymore.

Sorry, I'm a bastard. Just please be happy yourself. I'll try to pretend to be normal for you. I know times were hard.

I've been experimenting with different medicine that may help me sleep and finally tamper off ambien. Unfortunately my psychiatrist is a grimmy bitch. Well, she wasn't to begin with but as of the day before yesterday, she is.

"I can't put you on both of these medicines because they can become addictive so we have to work out which one you need to be on."  Okay, that's fine, you're just going to torture me for another month trying different garbage to cover your ass. It's the system, whatever. Then comes the part that fucking blew my mind. I was speechless. "Also, because your father was an alcoholic, you'd probably be more susceptible to getting addicted to things easily." ...really?

What. The. Fuck.  I never use anything recreationally on a consistently and I've tried most of the shit out there multiple times. If I were to be prone to addiction, I'd be a fucking head banging hallucinating cracked out hippie by now. It's boring, I don't care for any of it.  What I do care about, is not being fucking miserable all day trying to get by the hour. For that, I will try just about anything even if it includes someone punching me in the face to knock me out cold. Oh wait, there is one thing or a few things I have no self control about: procrastination, competitively gaming and smoking. I acknowledged it and quit playing anything all together. Damn, can't be fucking pro now but none of those bad habits will lead me to waking up naked in a poncho at some dump. So it's all good. Really, it's all good. Not really.

I wasn't sure if I should have flipped the fuck out right there, throw a fit or have a tantrum. I was at lost for words and my mind went blank. It wasn't until after I left the office that the scenario kept playing in my head over and over again. As usual, best fucking broken record ever. Now in addition to resenting her and being bitter, I also get to hate myself. I should have said something. Why can't you fucking just say it. "It's okay if you want to use my well-being, my life or my yet to exist future as an excuse. But do not fucking associate or put me in the same category as my father. You should know better than to say this to your patients. You should take your PhD and shove it up your ass." Nope, I was just dumbfounded and left. And now I can't forgive myself, "so why didn't you say shit, captain courage?" ..fuck you brain.

Labels: doctor, insomnia, sleep, sorry