I Mystify Me

I don’t understand.

One of my many health care professionals recently asked me if I knew why I wasn’t sleeping well. Aside from the notion that if I knew the answer I would be sleeping, I indicated that if the applicable momentary alignment of the giant reflux glucosamine . . . Eh . . . Sorry. Little grey cells got caught up in some lint. I wanted to say that if I knew… I’d have a chance to fix it. But I didn’t.

Eventually I was able to say that without question I was not able to sleep well as a result of a sleep aid help get me sleep. In a bizarre twist when I finally dropped off and slept… for the briefest of moments… my sleep deprived brain believed that if I slept I would die. So as a psychotic episode loomed nearer I panicked thinking sleep meant death was upon me  and I couldn’t tolerate the fear… so I woke up and panicked because I still had no sleep.

How did I manage to start sleeping again? First I stopped taking all sleep aids. Then I ate better and was more physical… What next?

I decided quite deliberately that I was going sleep and that I needed to stop thinking about it so damn much.

Speaking of sleeping it’s now 2:20 a.m. and I keep nodding off. Time to sleep.

(The next day at 11:25 p.m.)
Would you believe that I keep thinking of too many things and then I tire and stop writing?


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