I didn’t sleep much at all during the months of June and July. I would be awake for hours every night, and the lack of sleep would build and build until I would panic and cry hysterically and wake Guy and then neither of us would sleep. It was ugly.
By August 14th, I gave up and sought help. I was put on both anti-anxiety and sleep medication. First I tried Ambien, which didn’t work. Lunesta, the green butterfly, couldn’t keep me asleep. Then I tried Seroquel (which is apparently used for people in comas or with multiple personality disorder or something equally scary.) The Seroquel works. I take it, I start to feel sick, and then I pass out.
Believe you me, at first I was all over this. Hell, I was sleeping! What more could anyone ask! Sure, the feeling sick and the never having sex at night anymore weren’t my favorite things in the world, but Sleep. It is good and important.
Lately, though, it’s starting to take a toll. I’m starting to feel more and more hungover in the mornings, and for the first hour or two that I’m at work I’m confused and sleepy and have trouble remembering which author goes with which book and what their particular contract issues are and what the hell was this manuscript I’m reading about, anyway?
And at night…I’ve been having these long, vivid, incredibly intricately plotted dreams… I’ve always had weird long dreams, but the Seroquel is making it so that I have them every night. At first it was awesome—an adventure every night! But I’ve noticed a pattern….they’re all nightmares. Sometimes they’re fairly simple. I dreamt that I was having dinner and Guy walked into the restaurant and we made eye contact and he moved along. I had all the memories of our relationship, but he didn’t. He felt nothing.
Others, they’re a little more complicated. Grand, dystopic universes in which I’m trying to save the world but must abandon my husband and child and get raped for my trouble.
So yeah. Kinda over the Seroquel. But recently I skipped taking it, and surprise surprise, I couldn’t sleep. I know I need to get my act together and get a new shrink (at some point along the way, the psychiatrist I’d seen all of two times told me Guy doesn’t love me and I have no self-regard but that hey, I really was going to be a great mom! Getting a new one) and get some new medication or do something differently, but I gotta say I’m not really looking forward to putting myself through the emotional (not to mention financial—all these different meds aren’t exactly cheap) rollercoaster-that-only-goes-down-