The pursuit of insomnia… – 02/03/2002

…saved a wretch like me.

"With memory set smarting like a re-opened wound, a man’s past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavours and the tinglings of a merited shame".

George Eliot

 

This year can be described so far as a whirlwind for me. In four short months, I have moved from chronic depression [despair] to performance anxiety [dread], to thoughts of death [numbness], to fighting back [anger], to embracing the risk of no longer concealing myself [relief], to pure mania [magical thinking].

 

I have chucked in my life [as I knew it], my work [my crutch], my fears [my obsessions] and stripped away my traits [my life’s work, my construction, my tower]. About to embark on a global journey, alone, forced into new situations and new people [my old enemies].

 

This past month, I have had no more than 2 hours sleep per night. I fight sleep. I feel hunted by it. I dread it. I have wanted to be awake and alive for every moment that has passed. I have felt weak when I have succumbed to it. My days have turned inside out. I sleep at dawn. I read by day. I write by night.

 

I listened to a piece of music on repeat the other night from American Beauty called, ‘Angela Undress’. I had a moment where I felt that I was becoming unstuck [again], that my euphoria was wearing off, that I had made some horrible mistake [overcome with fear].

 

I am so pushed out of my comfort zone now; I am perched on a precipice and daring myself to jump constantly, not to my death now but towards living a life [to make myself visible].

 

Whispering to myself like a mantra, take a risk.

 

I feel compelled in some ways to push myself on, to prove it to others [who battle with mental illness] that this gift can be integrated and embraced. There is a place for us; we do not have to be invisible. We are just as integral [and as delicately insignificant] as drops of water in a vast ocean.

 

There is a diarist whose work I respect so deeply [to the point of idolatry]. I have visited his diary on the rare occasions that he has posted since starting my diary. I have told other diarists that I correspond with how much I hold his writing up as my benchmark, a jewel.

 

I have explained that if I was ever to receive a note from him that I would feel as though I am learning to write [that I have something to say that is worthy]. Today, completely out of the [blue], I received something much better than a note. I received a long e-mail [containing praise] from him.

 

I feel like a sham most of the time. A cheap graven replica of what was once pure. To receive praise from him meant something to me. Recognition by someone that I deeply admire gave me a shred of worth. I think he understands that I cannot completely reinvent myself. That I have to accept that there will be ebbs and flows in my fear. Receiving his e-mail has restored my courage.

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"Better keep yourself clean and bright; you are the window through which you must see the world".

George Bernard Shaw