I've been having problems sleeping. And I don't mean insomnia per se, I've been having nightmares. Every night, all the time, where I wake up shaking and can't get back to sleep until I've searched the house with a baseball bat and checked all the doors. Apparently this is a very common occurrence after a trauma, but I'm sure it also has to do with the fact that I was raped while I was asleep.
Anywho, I've tried everything. I've tried benadryl and Advil PM and chamomile tea and herbal supplements and aromatherapy and opiates. And nothing has been working. But recently I remembered that back when I used to smoke weed all the time, I didn't dream. Or at least, I didn't remember doing it. I remember when I first quit smoking, I was so startled that I could dream again. It was like a whole part of my life that I didn't even realize was missing, along with reading and being able to have quasi-normal social interactions, and not being terrified of cops. So I acquired a little bit of bud and bought myself a tiny little one-hitter (Side Note: When I told the guy at the head shop that I only really needed something big enough for one hit he said, "Where have you been all my life?") and a little air-tight box so my whole house wouldn't smell. Shit's skunky.
Last night I decided to give it a go. I got my pipe and put maybe a cubic centimeter worth of weed in it, which I thought was a super tiny bowl, if I remembered right. I grabbed a cigarette I could have afterwards and a glass of water and a lighter and went outside. I was so proud of myself for not coughing on that first hit, "I'm still a fucking pro" I thought to myself. I got cocky, I misjudged my tolerance, and I misjudged the amount I put in there. The first hit felt so wonderful, like I was instantly transported back to my youth of smoking and not giving a damn about the real world. Then I took another 5 or 6 hits to clear the bowl, and didn't feel so wonderful.
The room was spinning, the world was fragmented and going whomp whomp, I couldn't remember more than 3 seconds at a time, walking was HARD. I went into the bathroom, sat down, and forgot why I was there. I wondered if I was dying. I had brilliant epiphanies about the world and promptly forgot them. I could tell that my dog knew I was high, and was judging me for it. In short, I got WAY WAY WAY too high. But I didn't dream. So I'm gonna try it again, and maybe not get so mother fucking blazed. And maybe eat some cupcakes I made.
I wrote this piece the other night directly after waking up from a horrid nightmare. I ended up driving to the gas station at 6 am to buy cigarettes because I knew I would calm down if I could get some nicotine and I had run out. I took this piece with me to my support group this week, and read it to the ladies there. They were all really nice about it, and had really flattering things to say. One of them told me that it would be an excellent way to show someone who had never been through this how it felt. Which was a huge compliment. I don't have a creative title for it, so sue me. I'm fucking tired.
Nightmares
Fight or flight or freeze and I am a motherfucking ice cube. I can feel myself pressing full frontal against the cellophane membrane between sleep and the real world, stretching to grasp something real and break through, away from the dark and shadowy creatures that never stop coming. Mentally scrambling and yet physically so inert, trapped in amber for all of eternity. I finally crowbar my eyes open to look around my inky room, still drenched in sweat from my epic battle for life, raspy breathing and a heart that pounds the beat of a savage drum. My head feels drugged; I can feel the spinning of the world beneath me and it is SO. FAST. I can't even remember my otherworldly enemy, but he lurks in every dark corner, waiting patiently for the clock or himself to strike.
Fight or flight or freeze and I am a motherfucking ice cube. I can feel myself pressing full frontal against the cellophane membrane between sleep and the real world, stretching to grasp something real and break through, away from the dark and shadowy creatures that never stop coming. Mentally scrambling and yet physically so inert, trapped in amber for all of eternity. I finally crowbar my eyes open to look around my inky room, still drenched in sweat from my epic battle for life, raspy breathing and a heart that pounds the beat of a savage drum. My head feels drugged; I can feel the spinning of the world beneath me and it is SO. FAST. I can't even remember my otherworldly enemy, but he lurks in every dark corner, waiting patiently for the clock or himself to strike.
