Too Many Thoughts

It’s almost midnight, and I’m not focused. I don’t know what to write about. My head is filled with thoughts that tumble around like clothes in a dryer, sometimes sticking together. Over and over. Sometimes I don’t mind it, but other times, like tonight, they are all screaming at me and won’t quiet down.

I wish they would let me sleep.

Nighttime Is Not the Right Time

I hate the night.

I guess I shouldn’t say “hate.” Hate is a very strong word. But I definitely don’t like nighttime. My vision is impaired. Bugs come crawling out of their daytime hidey holes. And for me, it’s too quiet.

That gives my mind plenty of room to play. And by play, I mean play clips of songs in my head over and over. This happens during the day, but I don’t mind it as much because I can focus on other things. For some reason, darkness removes all concentration I have and leaves my mind vulnerable.

Right now, my mind is playing back every song I’ve heard or thought of today. “Wake Up, Little Susie,” the theme to “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine,” “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas” (Burl Ives and Michael Buble versions), “Silver Bells,” and “White Christmas.” I’m sure there are others in the mix, but these are the most prominent.

When I am preoccupied with a cacophony of songs that I can’t get rid of, I can’t sleep. I think the Trazodone, which is supposed to help OCD and sleeplessness, is not working anymore. It didn’t take long, and I’m thinking that it is because I have so many medications in my body already that my tolerance level is too high for Trazodone to work anymore.

But that doesn’t mean my days are miserable. I went and had my car tuned up and didn’t have a panic attack while I waited. And I finished Lee’s Jayne Hat, complete with pom pom. I had never made a pom pom before. It was fun.

But now it’s night. It’s silent outside, but an eclectic concert inside my head.

She’s In There, Somewhere

Fighting for truth and justice

That’s me. I rocked the Wonder Woman Underoos, didn’t I?

I wouldn’t say I was fearless, but up until puberty I went on plane rides by myself, put on lip-synched Alvin and the Chipmunks concerts for my neighbors, and defeated Carrot Man with my bare hands. (Thanks for putting up with me, Uncle George.)

I’ve been the opposite of that girl for a long time. I thought she would reemerge when Effexor initially worked for me and I was able to leave Huntsville.

For a while I’ve been hiding out, the complete opposite of the carefree girl and her crazy poses. I’ve lost interest in everything.

Sure, I’ve started going to a pub quiz once a week and I’ve found a bit of comfort in playing the piano again, but otherwise I don’t do anything.


No knitting, spinning, dyeing, writing. No helping my husband with cleaning our beautiful home. No taking pride in myself.

On the weekends, I sleep. During the week, I can’t get to sleep at night.

I feel overmedicated and undermedicated at the same time.

I said that to my psychiatrist yesterday. I also talked about symptoms that I hadn’t admitted to before.

Obssessive Compulsive Disorder symptoms, such as getting a song lyric stuck in my head…running over and over like my iPod is on repeat. Another symptom I deal with is called “morbid obsessions,” where in one instant I can look at something or someone and see myself doing something terrible. Images that horrify me.

We’ve come up with a plan that will hopefully help me with sleep and lift my mood, but it’s started rough. I was up for most of the night. When I was able to sleep, I had awful images of my ex not leaving me alone.

When I got to work this morning, I was shaky and nauseated. I didn’t know if I could make it through the day. I wanted to. I needed to. And I did.

Having work to focus on has been my saving grace. Yes, I’m grateful for the time Lee and I spend together, but to be totally immersed in a project has helped me get through each week as well. There are times when I don’t want to get out of bed, but I know I have to because I have coworkers who are confident in my abilities and let me know I’m appreciated.

Today of all days I needed something to distract me, and being around my coworkers helped.

There was also a phone call from my dad. I had let him know that I had gone to the psychiatrist and he called to check up on me. I got to hear the joy in his voice when he talked about his puppy, Wally, and the sadness when he talked about me.

“I just wonder what happened to that girl who was happy and lived life to the fullest,” he said.

“She’s in there, somewhere, Dad. I just have to find a way to bring her back.”