On Unsound Sleep: Petrifying Paralysis

At first I was terrified that I was going insane.

It was a typical college afternoon where I’d had a decent four hours of sleep the night before. My academic trials were on hiatus for the day and I thought I’d treat myself to a nap. I settled into the bottom half of the dorm bunk bed and fell asleep within moments.

It was under such circumstances that I encountered two strange entities.

The first entity I encountered was more than a wisp of evil. It disrupted my naps by clawing on the underside of my mattress. Unable to move or scream, I was enduring what is commonly known as sleep paralysis. As if the terrible sensations weren’t enough, there was a voice that roughly whispered a single command: GET OUT.

Then there was a benevolent presence, first making a silent appearance sitting on the edge of my bed. Once again, I could not move or open my eyes, but I felt whole, and loved. I later asked my boyfriend if he was watching me while I was sleeping. He said no.

I moved into a single-person dorm room and the experiences progressed. There was heavy breathing on the part of the evil entity, and prolonged scratching on the side of the wall nearest my bed. Once the benevolent spirit cradled me, and somehow I could sense that it was neither male nor female. I asked it not to leave me, and it replied simply, “I won’t.”

All the while during these episodes, I could hear the young man practicing the trumpet on the second floor. I could hear the entire conversation of roommates across the hall. Trapped between states of sleep and consciousness, I could not will myself to wake.

But eventually, I could open my eyes.

The white entity was often a flash of light darting throughout the room. The dark entity took on more ominous forms, often appearing as a gray mist. I would often pry my eyes open to see a gray curtain hovering at the edge of my bed.

In its final and most terrifying appearance, the gray curtain turned into a funnel. My mouth opened but I could not scream, and could not stop it from forcing itself between my open jaws. I finally woke, sitting fully upright in my bed. It wasn’t real, I told myself. It wasn’t real.

My friends suggested that I have the room blessed. But despite my almost daily visitations, I felt safe in my room during the day.

After enduring one particularly vivid episode, I called my mother for assurance that I wasn’t actually insane or experiencing a haunting. She replied that she herself had similar episodes. The most unsettling of these experiences happened one night when my father woke up to use the restroom. My mother, half asleep, felt who she thought was him get back into bed with her.  Then, much to her distress, my father actually returned to the bed. Like mother, like daughter: some studies indicate that sleep paralysis has genetic links.

   

The feeling of sleep paralysis would occasionally plague me after college. Because those who suffer from sleep paralysis are often given the same medication I take for OCD, I have not experienced it in about six years. Interestingly, WebMD states that sleep paralysis is often linked to bipolar disorder. That explains a lot, but doesn’t really make my hallucinations any less disturbing.

There is information all over the internet about the still somewhat mysterious phenomenon of sleep paralysis. For my fellow nerds, here is an excellent blog about Edgar Allan Poe and his descriptions of this lovely condition.

Sleep well, my friends. Pleasant dreams...

Mommy Guilt

The first day of the school year is tomorrow. My daughter couldn't be more excited. A nerd like her mother, she absolutely loves learning. Since I currently don't get many jobs as a substitute, I am not really looking forward to the many lonely hours without her.

And I also have an immense amount of guilt that I couldn't give her a sibling. I have lovely sisters, one younger and one older. On the left, you can see me bidding my older sister a tearful goodbye as she embarked on her first day of school. I thought for certain that she was never coming back. But of course, she did. And we have enjoyed many happy years together as friends and siblings.

I feel devastated that Violet will never know what it's like to have a brother or sister. My sisters have helped a great deal to shape who I am, and I love them both dearly. Violet constantly complains that she is lonely. And it's a loneliness not even a cat or a dog could ever cure.

I always felt strongly about having a second child, but both marital partners have to be on board for that sort of decision. After Violet's birth I faithfully took birth control but silently prayed that I would get pregnant on accident. But my husband was right not to want to have another child in many ways. I was more than a bit of a train wreck, before and after my hospitalization. If having one child stressed me out so much how could I possibly handle two? He asked. And I know it would have been difficult.

But a part of me also knows that for the love of both children, I would have made it work.

Now Violet is nine, and though my stability has increased dramatically, I feel I'm too old to have a baby. Violet is perfect in every way to me, it just tears at my heart that I couldn't be more for her. She has my adorable niece and a few good friends she considers to be sisters, and that will have to be enough.

Mostly Planned Articles

I've penned two articles at Mostly Planned: When In Doubt and Conversations with the Cat. Hope you enjoy.

I Wish You

I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss
But more than this
I wish you love

And in July, a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health
And more than wealth
I wish you love

My aching heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best,
My very best,
I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,
A cozy fire to keep you warm,
But most of all
When snowflakes fall,
I wish you love!

An old Frank Sinatra song is haunting me tonight. It makes me think of all of the lovers, and would-be lovers, I have ever had. It is a short list, but there is unfathomable quality on it. And then there was the one who truly broke my heart. Though most likely unintentional, he almost broke my mind as well.

Tonight, I ask, am I adult enough to wish him love?

I like to think that I am human enough not to begrudge anyone something as essential as love. And yet rage gnaws on me. Why should someone get away with being so apathetic? We were young and stupid, that is true. But I was willing to love, whereas he was willing to simply lust. Can I ever forgive him for something that has irreparably damaged me?

His actions were not without consequence in the long run. His lack of courage to love has impacted every relationship I have had since. And for that I am sorry. I am learning (albeit slowly, painfully slowly) how my emotional turmoil has affected my lovers, my true friends. It weighs on me almost daily.

But the most I can hope is that he found himself, perhaps in the state of being unloved, perhaps in the state of somehow being devoid of ego. If he has found himself in such a desperate state, I do wish him love.

If he still loves himself above all else, I wish him nothing.

Scrambled Eggs

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,

Brother to Death, in silent darkness born:

Relieve my languish, and restore the light,

With dark forgetting of my cares, return;

And let the day be time enough to mourn

The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:

Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,

Without the torment of the night's untruth.

Cease dreams, th' imagery of our day-desires,

To model forth the passions of the morrow;

Never let rising sun approve you liars,

To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow.

Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain;

And never wake to feel the day's disdain

Samuel Daniels 1562-1619

During "the shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth," I sang Dominick Argento's setting of this poem. Music was my life for so long, and I don't take my experiences with it lightly. Old friends often ask me if I still sing. And I reply that I do. I sing in the shower; I sing opera while doing housework, probably to the puzzlement of my neighbors within earshot.

Those who thought me a diva may be surprised by this, but singing in public was never comfortable for me. It was rather uncomfortable in fact, in a I-want-to-barf-my-brains out sort of sense. Nothing beats the feeling or comfort of singing in a choir: nothing rivals the sheer pants-peeing terror of having to sing BY YOURSELF, IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.

But I digress.

What was the point of the poem? Yes, sleep is necessary to restore the calm, to temporarily suppress the past, even though our dreams may be liars at times. And the last line? A tad morbid for me now, but at times I have wished upon myself the sweet embrace of eternal sleep.

That's another story. Or perhaps a series of stories.

To finally get to the point, insomnia sucks and I need more sleep. It is my own fault, you see. I drink too much caffeine and consume too much sugar during the day. Combine that with no exercise and you get (shocker) no sleep. Even though I take enough anti-anxiety meds and mood stabilizers to subdue a small horse.

The thought of a small horse brings me to another subject that's been weighing on my mind. It weighs quite dramatically on my body too. Despite my old foray into Beachbody territory, I have re-gained my weight over these long vacation months. How much weight? Only my scale knows for sure. But this lack of sleep and exercise, plus medication, makes for one unhealthy chick.

It really doesn't help that the only time I feel inspired to write is between one and five in the morning. But I guess we don't get to choose when we are inspired. I'm just hoping the clickety-clack of my keyboard isn't reaching the ears of my sleeping husband.

In summary, I've covered stage fright, small horses, insomnia, medication, and inspiration. With a light touch on suicidal ideation.  Without further complication, I'm going to scramble some eggs, much to my mouth's elation.

Sleep tight, or at least until a decent hour. I'll be envious.

A Plague in My House

I had the best of intentions. I took my meds and was in bed by 7:30.

First I learned today that Turbo, our eldest cat at 13, has diabetes in addition to her inflammatory bowel disease. Little did I know that another of the small females in my house was about to get sick.

I gave Violet a bowl in case, say, she couldn't make it to the toilet. "But I'm all done throwing up," she protested. Sure you are kid, but we're already down a bathmat.

So now I'm up with laundry going and little else I can do without waking the household.

It's really too bad that I have an archive of bad poetry I could expose you to at this interesting hour, but it's locked up tight behind a Windows 10 error. I suppose it forces me to think of fresh material. But at the same time, it's distressing to be separated from so many of your thoughts and ideas.

There have been times in my life where, for reasons of stress and chemical imbalance, I found myself separated from more normal thoughts, allowing me to live, temporarily, in an alternate reality. The professionals called me delusional. Later, even my aspirations to become a singer were written off by my psychiatrist as a delusion of grandeur.

So was I ever fated to succeed, or was that a product of my diseased brain? How long, exactly, has my stay in la-la land been? I know I've always been imaginative. I thoroughly enjoy talking to myself, or the cats, when I find myself alone. In my own head, I am intelligent and witty. On the outside, I wonder how nutty I seem exactly.

Maybe that's why none of those interviews panned out. I was wearing my crazy on the outside, fumbling for words, shaking, unable to properly articulate. Scared to death of being judged and unable to keep myself in check.

"And she knows she's more than just a little misunderstood. She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous." Counting Crows, Round Here, 1993



Too many ideas trapped inside my head, clawing at the inside walls of my mind. Just waiting for their chance to shine and make their creator look like she definitely needs that extra dose of Ativan. Perpetually plagued by disease and too damaged to cope with reality.

Or...not?  Sometimes I dare to wonder. And that's all I've got tonight.

Back to School?

I have so many nightmares about going back to school. I love learning and I did well in school but I was exhausted by the end of my undergraduate studies. I wanted to save money and postpone graduate school for a few years because I knew I needed a break.

Fast forward 15 years.

I ended up getting married instead of going back to graduate school. I worked a few office positions for a few years and then had a beautiful daughter. Our life has since revolved around my husband's profession. Now that he has the opportunity to work more regular hours I am attempting to get back into the workforce.

I tried to land a job while in Wyoming but had no luck. Though my GPA was a 3.97 in college, I couldn't even get hired as a tutor for the school district. I suspected the existence of a "good old boys" club, and because I didn't have many personal connections I had little chance of attaining a job.

Then came our move to Utah. A fresh start, or so I thought. Different state, same story. After applying for leagues of office jobs and retail positions, and being rejected by them all, one of my old friends suggested that I pursue a job in education. I was thrilled to be hired as a non-classified sub with the local school district. I cannot substitute as a teacher, but I am allowed to sub for playground monitoring and positions of that nature. I thought it was at least a start.

Since I already had one education job, I decided to take it a step further and apply for the state ARL (Alternate Routes to Licensure) program. It took some time, but I was approved to teach Elementary Education. I have 18 months to find a qualifying, full time job as a teacher. Then I will have an educational program tailored to me so that I can actually learn how to teach. So essentially I would be teaching full time and taking classes or pursuing online studies at night. I was told by someone who recently completed the program that it would be "the hardest thing you'll ever do."

So, in the spirit of taking things one step at a time, I decided to use this year to get a position as a teacher's assistant. Who in their right mind would hire me full time, I wondered, when I had very limited experience with kids? In my sub experience I was a playground monitor once and a P.E. teacher once. Neither experience went very well for me because frankly I had no idea what I was doing.

I've applied for many positions in two districts and at charter schools. I couldn't even land a job as a part time library assistant. All the interview questions are specifically tailored for someone who has experience with kids, and other than raising a sweet and successful daughter, I have none. The last two interviews I had were within the last two weeks, and I was told that I would be notified within a few days as to the outcome. It's been well over a week and neither school has contacted me.

This job search has filled me with anxiety and a great deal of uncertainty, and I've been told that many people with my anxiety disorders can't stand uncertainty. It drives them nuts. I've certainly had an increase in neurotic symptoms. I can't sleep through the night unless I take twice the dose of my regular anxiety medication (don't worry, I'm doing it under a doctor's supervision). The constant worry is driving me up a wall. The constant rejection is making me feel completely worthless to society at large. I have a fear of failure and utter failure seems to greet me at every turn.

I have an appointment with a psychologist while my daughter is in school next week. I am going to discuss the depression and anxiety this job search has brought me. I am also going to discuss whether it is a good idea for me to even get a job in education. Part of me wants to go back to school to become a librarian or a literature professor, neither of which I am currently qualified for.

I suppose the real questions are, how much can I take without cracking again? Was any of this even a good idea, or was I high on mania and overestimating my capabilities? Should I find some sort of job or tutoring position at home, since having an actual commute terrifies me? The self-doubt and queries are seemingly endless.

The nightmares continue, and are starting to invade my reality.