This is worth something

by Sadee Mae 16 days ago in bipolar

The will to wake

This is worth something
public domain photo by Christopher Campbell

We try to make our time count. We fill in the blanks in the day, the minutes that rain, the minutes that leave. What would we do without those minutes? What would we have?

Imagine there were no minutes. Imagine: Time stretching on and on and on...

We feel the loss of time, especially when we're doing nothing, when time is wasted and we are wasted, too. What are we, except features and movements in Time?

When I was still in school, I would wake up very early. I'm talking 2 AM, 3 AM early. I didn't have to be in homeroom till 7:20.

Laying there in bed, with my eyes closed, dark and still, the room soundless, the house soundless-- I couldn't stand it. I wasn't really asleep anymore. I was having full on paranoia. There was no clock ticking. Some might claim to hear it in their heads. I don't. It was silent. It was transfixed horror, and I was crazed to break out of it.

So, I would get up, shake off the shakiness, and find something to occupy me. Different mornings brought different needs. Sometimes what I needed was actual stimulation, and I discovered new things, new stories to read, new shows to watch. Sometimes what I needed was comfort because I was all frayed nerves, and I would partake of what I was familiar with, things that I knew the course of, how they would play out.

Every morning I would go through the dilemma. Wake up, hear the hallway beyond my door making creepy noises, hear the house beyond the hallway being quiet. Pick a pastime. Try to disregard that I would be going to school in a few hours.

That's what it was about. I dreaded that I would be forced to go, that six hours of my day would not be my own. I needed to make up for it somehow by making stubborn decisions about what to do with the free hours I had. I made hours for myself. I was stealing minutes for myself. I wanted to be awake. I was desperate to be awake and doing things that I chose to do.

I thought it was worth it. I thought I was beating what I viewed as injustice then. "You want to take my precious Time away? You want to used it up with your nonsense and demands? Well I'll just pull some extra out of my magic hat."

That meant I just didn't get as much sleep.

This was combined oddly with my depressive habits. One was to sleep when I got really down and aimless. I'd just clock out.

I find it pretty interesting, the various ways people cope with depression. I have so many friends who find it impossible to sleep when they're in a bad way. They'd have Insomnia. And then there was me, knocking out in a snap, staying asleep so long, hiding from consciousness.

So why this duality? Why did I desperately cling to every waking second, and throw so many hours away other times?

I think I've always had a problem deciding what I really want. I need an obsession, something I feel so passionately about that there's no way I can wander from it. I've cycled through these my whole life. When I got out of school, though, things became even less clear than they were before. A void opened up, and I was pushed off the edge into it.

Sometimes I would like to say that it's not easy to incite my emotion. I am a tough wall to break through. But when that barrier is penetrated, I feel with an intensity that unnerves me at times.

I wonder if we live in a society largely desensitized like this.

In the meantime, when I go through these spurts of emotional drought, I act like I care about things, I feign passion, I pretend that things matter, but the time feels empty, that empty Time I used to be so afraid of.

I'm still afraid of it. It's very uncomfortable.

You know what it feels like? It feels like being under thick blankets, unable to get out. You keep moving a little material out of the way, shifting beneath the fabric, but the edges seem not to exist.

I have a not wholly new habit, one that is new only in its intensity. I sleep. I sleep all day sometimes, lost as how to spend the passing minutes, let alone the passing hours.

There's a cure for this, though. Responsibility. Responsibility will always keep us alive. It's worth something. It's enough to wake us up.

bipolar
Sadee Mae
Sadee Mae
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