Saturday, September 24
I think I am the only person in the world next to workaholics like Donald Trump, who does not like to sleep. Except that I'm not a workaholic. In fact, I'm the exact opposite. But getting back on track, the only reason I sleep is because I need it. Other than when I'm actually snoozing peacefully, sleeping is an absolute royal pain in the ass. Why? Because I may have chronic insomnia, or whatever the hell it is that's my problem. My mom always demands to know why I don't sleep. I say I can't sleep. Then she asks me why I can't sleep. I say I don't know. Then she says I think too much, and then would start accusing me of thinking about my boyfriend too much, and that would be my cause of stress and inability to sleep. I'm too much of a moron to have one. She never believes me, about both that I have a sleeping disorder and that I don't have a boyfriend. We have gone over this for the past many years.

It is very disappointing to me, because I really would love to be one of those people who fall asleep at the drop of a hat and along with that ease of falling asleep, they in addition to that have wonderful dreams. I have horrible dreams. No matter how great my life has been or how crappy it has been or how young I am or how old I am or how streesful or stress-free I am, my dreams have always been bad. If not bad, then weird. Overtly weird. Usually creepy weird. I have no idea why a child deserves this, but my worse dreams were when I was a kid (as I got older, they got more depressing). Those were the kinds that made you stay up at night with the sheets over your head and you're trembling like a vibrator set on high power because you're so terrified. Two nights ago for example, I had a dream that I was brushing my teeth. Only that I was missing some fucking teeth and my gums had deep, bloody holes in them, bleeding all over the inside of my mouth. When my toothbrush went over them (no fucking idea why I kept on brushing anyway, without any fucking toothpaste to numb the pain with spearmint freshness either!), the brush head would be covered in red gooeyness and I would be in pain. Then the dream stopped immediately.

Shaina told me about this "lucid dreaming" thing, where when you're having a bad dream, you should face your enemy and do something nice to it, like give it a hug. That way you become friends with your nemesis and things are all right in Dreamland. My dreams don't have enemies most of the time. Just weird, scary shit like I just mentioned. Only, that dream was a mild one for me. Unless I was supposed to brush the hell out of my gums and making it look like I was sawing my jaw in half - with a clear Oral-B toothbrush, adorned with a rubber green grip handle.

What makes things even worse is that I have especially noticed, when I have an exceptionally, great, great day, at that night - no matter how fast or how slow I fell asleep - I'd have a fucking nasty nightmare. The worst of the worst. It's like karma, almost. But why the fuck punish somebody for having a good day? It's like whoever the fuck it is doesn't want me to have a good life. That's the irony within me. Can't do a single fucking thing about it.

Also, at night, when you're just lying there and not doing anything, you tend to think deeper and start to analyze your day, or even your life. Well, since I can't fucking sleep, I end up thinking for about an hour or two, or more. It gets really horrible because then you start to think about all the sins and shitty things that you've done, and start to feel really guilty, and you can't do anything to keep your mind off of it. It gets really deep. I mean, if I had more power over my life and were allowed to tell myself when to go to bed, I wouldn't be lying there for three hours every night pissing the hell out of myself and wasting so much time - I could be baking cookies and watching Denis Leary specials or something; Something to keep me from going fucking nuts. Jesus fucking Christ. These are the times, the times when I'm contemplating at night, is when I'm sensitve at most. Turning and tossing in bed, my own mind not allowing me to get rid of the guilt, or of course, not even allowing me to fucking sleep.

I'd really like to get sleeping pills, but my mother doesn't believe me, nor lets me stay up and actually walk around the house at night, so I'm pretty much fucked. She thinks I'm fucking crazy to want to get sleeping pills. The longest I'd ever stayed up was going to bed at 9:00PM and falling asleep at 4:00AM. Seven hours of tossing around under the sheets and after watching every single good late night show on TV, I'm stuck with Showtime Rotisserie Oven infomercials.


Christina N. @ 11:41 PM