Long-Winded Diatribe Written During Sleeping Hours

it's the second night of not sleeping. the pills the doctor gave me ran out before the trip to bismarck with the boy to meet the family. i slept anyway for two nights because my mother slipped me some pills of her own. mine were for anxiety and hers were anti-psychotics... but with booze the distinction made little difference and i only noticed that there was a dizziness to it all.

now there isn't anything. just the lack of sleep. i have spent hours watching movies that do not interest me and books that irritate me only to find that i'm no closer to sleep. i leave the tv on to be numbed by informercials and then play computer games. then i hobble off to the bathroom with every intention of taking a shower. i meet my reflection in the mirror and i'm washed out and rumpled.

i'm beginning to take a sick pleasure in the number of hours that go by with my head far from the pillow. i want to sleep and i know that tomorrow... today, rather, will be hell. i can feel the sun slowly creeping closer and i can't stop the thoughts that race through my head.

i've done another horrible thing... i've stopped the prozac. it happened so gradually that i didn't even know that i was doing it. i forgot a few doses here and there. then there were more days that i didn't take them then days that i did.

i was on track there for awhile and i really had no idea what to do with it. i'm going to get back on the horse tomorrow and ride it for all that it's worth. i simply can't bear the idea of more of these endless nights. i can't tolerate the thought that i'm choosing this delapitated lifestyle when i could be a shade happier and a whole notch more rested.

i'm going to pick up and start again. and i'm not going to stop to think of how many times i've done that. i have already been supplied with enough worthless thoughts for one long sleepless night, thank you very much.

and before we all race to tell me that i'm doing the right or the wrong thing here just remember that it's good to do something. that it's good to see your mistakes rather than hoping you haven't ever made any. it's good to be able to look at yourself and stop what you're doing so that you can fix the problem... but it's also terribly depressing to realize every little motivation for every crazy little thing that you do and hope that there is some way that you can convince yourself that it truly is a good idea to turn it around.

it's also terribly depressing to write an entry like this... so i'm not going to read it and edit. for this please accept my humble apologies.