Dreaded Dreadful Insomnia
It’s 2:40 a.m. as I’m starting to write this blurb that I know not where it will go nor if I will even decide to publish it.
Easter Monday. At my workplace, we don’t get “Pâques off” — that is, we don’t get this day off. It was a weird day at work in that half our clients were at work as well but the other half wasn’t. But it was a weird day in other ways, too.
A colleague at work came out to me today. I would be lying if I said I was totally shocked. Several months ago, he made a reference to life in Montréal that set off the proverbial alarm bells. I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly, plus given that he’s given to making flip comments and that he’s quite colourful in some of his figures of speech, I just let it slide. Meanwhile, although I never formally came out to him, I figured he was in the know. (He was.)
His confidence to me led me to one of my own to him: that I have never before felt so disconnected and inert, to the point that I’m seriously considering getting help. This sentiment, in fact, is why I cannot sleep tonight even though I have a big day ahead of me at work.
After much thought, deliberation and procrastination, I decided to let my mother in as well. For the longest time, I didn’t want to do it: she’s getting old and she shouldn’t have to worry about her 45-year-old baby boy. But, at the same time, not talking to her frankly seemed to make me feel worse — seemed to add weight on my shoulders, additional weight I couldn’t carry.
When I do fall asleep, I can sleep 8, 9, 10, even 11 hours. That’s one sign of something being awry. But there’s also the realization that, through inertia — literally not doing anything except my job and showering every morning when I get up — and neglect — not taking care of even the most basic things the ordinary people take care on a daily basis — I seem intent on taking a path of self-sabotage.
I know it’s both a over-simplification and a bit of self-aggrandizing, but the basic feeling is nontheless very real to me at this time: I feel like I have for so long tried to be there for others (not always successfully and sometimes, in hindsight, with questionable motives) that I haven’t the energy any longer to be there for myself. I know that only I can pull myself out, but at the same time, I have never felt so needing of others — friends, family — to simply speak and, yes, get a reality check (not to say a kick in the ass).
I figure hardly anyone reads this blog anymore, and that’s okay. Sad, because this was a fun place once upon a time, but okay. However, if there are still readers out there, there’s one thing I want to make perfectly clear: I am not — I repeat, NOT — entertaining any kind of fantasy about turning myself into a projectile from a bridge! (That’s a joke, by the way.) But I am thinking about doing whatever is necessary to seek help, and to preserve the many blessings life has granted me and that I can still very much recognize and appreciate. In other words, after speaking with my colleague at work and my mother today, I realize that I’ve made an important step towards recognizing the difference between a “phase” and something more significant.
This isn’t just a phase. And it’s something I need to deal with, without overtaxing friendships. I don’t want to turn all maudlin on people! But to borrow an overused phrase from the current election campaign, I need to create the “winning conditions” to emerge better on the other side of the hurdle I need to get across.