REM Sleepwagon!

I am exhausted all of the time. I see the world sometimes through a hallucenation caused by the lack of sleep. Those are way more fun than PTSD overlap or other scary things. When it is just a lack of sleep everything looks better. My hair for instance is not short but a loooong princess’s hair in blazing red. My clothing all look like gowns with beautiful gems. The way I would dress if it were wheelchair friendly (working on modifying my actual gowns, though I still need to get me some gems to encrust them with.) Sprite and Nymph look the same, maybe a bit sparkly. Everything looks great. Physically it feels like crap.

I haven’t been sleeping, my body sleeps but my mind sits and spins in a cycle of thought, I am trapped there. I don’t know what is keeping me there because it isn’t pain this time. It could be PTSD. I think it is, but without sleep it gets harder to think, harder to feel. I can’t feel the music today and that composition job is waiting for me. I need to get to work on it but I can’t. My hands are tied by a need for REM.

I dreamed two nights ago or I would be approaching a psychotic state. I know after two weeks of no REM I enter psychosis. The glitter is a warning sign, and yet I miss it today. There is something stressful, besides PTSD and fireworks going off at odd hours. The last dream I had was a twisted nightmare however. Not only does the body use the dream state to process things our subconscious cannot quite grasp but dreams also are a relaxation period and some down time. By not dreaming I am not letting my brain rest and I reach burn out very quickly. That is another reason that I am taking time off, as much as I can. My brain is screaming with ideas and if I wrote even a third of them down I’d have my hands fall off from exhaustion.

I know it is a painful choice to curl away from creative outlets in the hope that I fall asleep from exhaustion or am satiated, but I know that is not the healthy one. I would rather fall asleep and dream instead of pushing myself until I am at the edge of collapse. I dream either way, eventually but with one there is the promise of nightmares and physical sickness, and with the choice I am making I may still have both but there is the chance I won’t have to have terror fueled dreams.

I used to have nightmares every time that I dreamed. In fact, it reached a point where I started altering my dreams consciously. I am not sure if the nights when I know I am asleep but am still thinking and imagining my stories, something to entertain me while I lay there for a few hours in boredom, or the skill to dream lucidly came first. I just know that when I talked about it I ended up in a mental hospital. That’s right, my mother and her army of brainwashers, I mean therapists… well they decided to try and control even what I dreamed. It wasn’t enough to alter me in the day, but they wanted to take away my nights.

I didn’t dream for almost a year because there were rules set on my dreams. I chose to not dream. If I started to dream I woke myself up. This is why I know I can run on no sleep. This is also why I know the symptoms of psychosis so well. That was the time when I was put on antipsychotics that toxified my body. I think those drugs gave me the water and sun allergies as they came at the same time, but there is no definitive there as I was also in puberty. My body was changing, and being violated even by FDA standards which are not as tight as they should be.

I sit here longing for dreams, when once I fled from them. I find this a bit odd. It feels a bit like a partial plot in a bad romance novel. My good dreams may qualify as nightmares for some people though. I like to fight in my dreams. I am the heroine, beaten, bloodied, and almost broken. The enemy thinks I am defeated then I find with in myself the power. It is sometimes more strenghth, sometimes a sword that I find laying on the ground, or a bit witchbladey one with in me, other times it is my companion (Sprite as a Dragon, who doesn’t love that?). Most often it is the power of my words.

My word power took over as the weapon of choice in my dreams some time after I turned 21. I stopped trying to just kill and destroy my enemies (Father mostly) and talked to them. I argued with the recordings and PTSD in the form of abject evil allegory (though I retain my disabilities despite the Sci Fi fantasy cliches). I won the arguments. Again and again. I chose to live at this time too. There is a direct correlation between my dreams and my unpacking of privilege as well.

So I want it. I want to dream. Even if it means sometimes I have nightmares, I dream. I never used to have the good dreams, where I was running from something, and turned to fight. I used to just die over and over because Daddy loves me. Those dreams await me due to the high PTSD risk right now, but I can take them on. If I can stop thinking long enough to dream, I can do anything.

Nightmares

I haven’t had nightmares since my father died. I didn’t notice they were gone at first, because I tend to only have nightmares when I am tired or when I am stressed. Yesterday I was tired and stressed. I curled up to sleep, taking the time to play some music for William so he would sleep and allowing Sprite to lay sprawled over my hips, which pins me in that position until she moves. This is comforting to me. I drifted off into the twilight that comes before sleep and felt the slight pang of fear, wondering what my dreams would bring.

I remember most of my dreams in vivid detail, and last night I simply dreamed of Super Heroes without villains. They had nothing to do and it was a strange mix of Batman and Hal Jordan from the DC universe sipping tea and staring at one another. There were no words, but it appears that the heroes who inhabited my dreams, fighting off the dark monsters have won. I think it was pomegranate tea.

I remember the smells, and as I crept through what my brain deemed Wayne Manor I found only happy things. It was strange, and when I woke, after a 12 hour dead to the world sleep my first thought was, “Huh… I wonder what that was about.” What does it mean when your heroes run out of villains?

After some rumination I decided my brain is well aware of my ability to fend for myself. The one threat that I could not cope with due to the fear, the flashbacks, and the training from infanthood, is gone. My brain embraced this. One of the truest tests of this is finding silence, nothing but happiness even with the Batman in my brain.

Yesterday I ran into people from the last four years, and I found myself frustrated by the repercussions of those roommates. The credit being taken for my work had an effect, and left me aching a bit. The happiness however, at the true friends that I still have was overreaching.

I went to an SCA event for the College of Blaiddwyn, and I pillaged. My medieval persona (who I dress up as) is a norse female who happens to love Pillaging. I start with a fellow viking, a specific individual and then pillage the rest in my own shallow representation of history. I told stories as well in a competition. It was beautiful, it was fun, and I came home with a sense of satisfaction that I only obtain in the SCA. I missed it.

I will upload videos of my stories and some pictures for you all to check out soon. You can appreciate the awesomeness of my hobby horse on the scooter, I named him Wilbur. I found bits of myself i thought were gone forever. Perhaps it was this wholeness that allowed Batman to take his tea. I wonder if he uses cream and sugar.

With fulfillment comes peace. I forgot who said that. Perhaps it was my Sensei, but, I was fulfilled in a thousand ways with in the last few weeks. A lot of that fulfillment is from writing this blog. Though I may become a more sporadic poster, I am alive.

I look forward to telling you of my adventures with the two young women who are marrying one another, with in the SCA, and as I begin to persue the only job I really know how to do in a classic profession (Public Speaking). I specify in a classic profession as I can do many things, and always have layered my life with the things that please me.

Now for the first time in my life all I choose to do is for myself, or my person. For the first time in my life it is mine and mine alone. Even with a commitment to share my life with people I love, it is my choice. When I started this blog a month and a half ago it was at the start of this adventure. It has just begun but in that short time I have come so far, and i am bringing you all with me.

I can’t do this alone, yet, it is for me that I act. I haven’t felt such power since I started dancing. Dance, sing, and find what gives you this strong sense of peace and joy. Change what needs to be changed for the better, and love yourself. A lot of the private correspondence from this blog comes from people in need of love. The best person to find that love with is yourself. I know it is a cliche, yet it is cliched because it is true.

I also offer you something that my neighbor and Sensei taught me. It comes from the Buddhist tradition. He said, “The strongest Love is Wishing love.” What is wishing love? “Wishing love is the love in your heart that comes with each breath. The joy you feel for life, and the love for anyone. I feel wishing love for you. I feel wishing love for my wife. Wishing love is the love for all people and living things. I even feel wishing love for the people who made me cry.” Why? Why love? “Love is powerful, Little Lotus. Love can help you survive anything. When you hurt in here.” His hand on my heart,”Remember that I love you.” He kissed my forehead and sent me home. I wondered then if I could feel wishing love.

I feel wishing love. Remember, when you are afraid, I love you. When you are alone, I love you. I love everyone in this world. I loved even my father with Wishing Love. I will never forget the pain, but I will also never forget the first moment of love. I will never forget the strange sensation in my heart. It felt as if I could do anything. It still does and I can. So can you.

Wishing Love-
I will cry for you
I will live for you
I will laugh with you
I will love you.
I wish you love
I give you love
Wishing Love
Potent Love.
I wish you life.
I wish you joy.
I wish you mercy.
I wish you peace.
I wish you guidance.
May you find those who can lead you in the path of life, until you can lead another.

Showtunes

William Shakespurr is full of surprises. Until last night I haven’t had a good night’s sleep without locking him out of the bedroom and curling up with Sprite and Sprite alone. He stayed last night due to a discovery made in the morning.

I had my Person hand me my antique music box. It is shaped like a grand piano, though the lid is missing now. I wound it up, pulled the wire and a tinkling tune began to play. The Impossible Dream from Don Quixote. You will find that is a theme I listen to often, and have for most of my life.

William came running in to the room and had to investigate the sound. He was quiet, as he usually is but sniffed it. The music stopped and he looked disappointed. His ears drooped and he lowered himself to try and figure it out. I wound up the box again and set it in the same spot.

This time he put one ear against the glass where the music is created. He switched ears as the box wound down again. On the third wind he decided to lay on it, seeing if that would keep it going or claiming it. The music stopped, as the little wire that used to go up and down with the piano lid was pressed in by his body. He got up, and it started again. He did not lay on it a second time but instead put his nose to the glass staring inside. I had to give it another wind and this time he seemed frustrated.

He flipped the box on it’s side, using one paw to keep it from falling over fully and then tried to lift the box with his mouth. It was too heavy for him, so he tried to drag it. He wanted to take it away. At this time I was curious as to why other music didn’t effect him this way. The not so savage beast was tamed by … Showtunes?

Turning to the computer I pulled up a recording of the Impossible dream. He laid down and let me hide the music box in my purse, as I needed it for the day. He was just as happy. It was a sign! I currently am paying way too much for TV and therefore have access to an entire TV station for showtunes. I put that on the TV after the song on the computer was through and to the tune Hello Dolly discovered he was relaxing, calm, and content.

I left to go and watch a speech, and when I came in both he and Sprite were curled up watching the TV, though there were no moving pictures. They were hooked on the showtunes. William has changed his behavior. He was quiet enough I let him sleep with me, though normally this means I do not sleep.

He was warm, soft, and he was well behaved. Even as the night wore on I slept hard and without any interruptions. When I woke he continued to sleep too. When running out of the room suddenly, he did it for the first time without running first into the walls. Showtunes? He apparently needed to have some calming music. He seems like a different cat. Did the Broadway gods come and steal the William I know and am often annoyed at replacing him with this alien copy? That would make him a copy cat.

All I know is this, I love Showtunes and they have him behaving so well our house is now going to be filled with the standards of the stage!

The Doom Ship

Not everyone gets to ride the Doomship. I ride, others ride, and yet I often take it for granted. What is the Doomship you ask? The Doomship is the Ship of Life, riding towards the birthday of Death. It sounds horribly dramatic and is.

Children born with serious illness are often told, “You won’t live to be 21,” Or something similar. I have a list of birthdays that have passed, my next is another Doom Birthday. When I broke my back, and it was first diagnosed I had a series of doctors tell me that my organs would fail by 25. My birthday isn’t for a few months, I was reading blogs off of the Disabled Blog Carnival and started reading Temporarily Disabled. Not only is this a great read, though with each post I tend to cry just a little for the child who was aching and the pain she has been through. She turned 26 and posted about the Doomship, sailing past into the great unknown.

With Doomship Birthdays past, it is like looking at a precipice of great unknown. I know I am going to live past 25. I am confident only due to surviving so long. These waters are familiar. I am pensive too, due to my Annual Cancer Scare. I get one a year. This time it is my reproductive system. I had my annual blood work done and my white count is high. My pap came back with abnormal cells. We’re redoing them both to verify before any panicking is done.

I waited three years before getting a pap, because no doctor would accommodate my need to not be in their perfect position, or to even help me balance on the table. I can’t do it myself. I need someone else to help heft my carcass around. I know if I do have cancer I won’t die. I will just get over it. My doctor is more worried than I am.

Right now I am surrounded by everything I have ever wanted. Not the things like the toys I never had, but the love I most desired. On my right I have Sprite, the service cat, curled up and purring against my back. She is helping me to not spasm so I can type the words out. My body is rebelling. I have on my left William drooling into my shirt, and every so often poking the keyboard with a paw to see what is so fascinating. He sleeps, then paws then sleeps a bit more.

In the other room my Person is puttering around, doing the dishes after making a meal of my choice. I had spaghetti with sausage meatballs. I haven’t had meatballs in a long time, but he made them for me, tolerating my lewd jokes. My home is clean, my bed is comfortable. My friends and family are far enough away and close enough at the same time. I even have high speed internet to keep me amused on those days when movement is unacceptable.

The Doomship sails on, the waves splash, the thunder crashes, and my life flashes before my eyes, but, it is the life I am living that I am proud of. Not the memories, not the past. It is my future that holds me in it’s sway. I reach for it, sitting in the prow, praying to my gods, listening to the world, and taking part in changing it.

I write something every day, and each time it is self discovery. I discovered I can write non fiction. I never knew I could. I know the mechanics of writing are sound, as I sell fiction periodically, and write it almost daily. It is merely the fear of my life that has held me back. I feared upsetting those with the power over my life and death. I am now the Captain of my Doomship. I mutinied.

So, as I rest, my ship swaying, I look out and see that everyone else is in a Doomship too, they just do not know it. They do not prepare, they do not adapt. They aren’t aware that they have to. Red sky in morning sailor take warning, the storm is coming and the night is humming… wait not for the red sky at night, for on the Doomship there is no Sailor’s Delight.

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