Wobbly. In between. Ookie. Like the time I took two doses of Dramamine instead of one. Hungover. Tingly in the head, my brain loose in my skull.
For reasons beyond my control, there was a two-day gap where I didn't take my anti-depressants or my appetite suppressant.
Not that one thing has anything to do with the other.
I lay in bed and felt I was melting into the mattress. It was like being comfortable, but it didn't feel right. It's hard to explain. Sleep seized me in its grip and a dream happened.
I was standing next to a wall having a conversation with someone unknown and then a hand was over my face and I was struggling to breathe. I woke up with a start. MathMan asked me what was wrong.
Bad dream.
I was drifting again even as my heart pounded.
Another dream. Nothingness then water closed over my head. Someone held me under water. I thrashed about, struggled to free myself. I wanted to break the surface, but couldn't.
Awake again. - What is wrong with you? - Another bad dream. Was I flailing around? - No. But you look sweaty.
My will to live is alive and kicking.
I was afraid to fall asleep. I fought it, but soon enough I was in another dream. The kind that seems to last a long time, fades into the next and the next and the next. Not a nightmare, thank goodness.
A new place to live. A rental in a mixed neighborhood. A house dead center of Gated Community meets The Projects. Nice neighbors, a kitchen with a tremendous amount of storage space. Commercial areas distributed around the neighborhood with shops, bars and restaurants. Elevators taking residents and the public up and down between the residential area and the commercial areas.
A cameo appearance by a past lover. A friend from high school. Washington Post columnist Jonathan Capehart wearing a bowtie and sitting a couple of tables away. He looks over and smiles. Don't I know you? Yes. I'm friends with you on Facebook. A fan.
We make a date to visit a gay bar down the block. I hope you'll wear that bowtie.
The high school friend wants to show me something. A new iPhone app that shows you how many times a person looks at you. She wants to tell me how many times my old lover has looked at her over the course of the evening. Over 300 times. I am not surprised. He never stops looking.
All day yesterday, I waited for the dream details to fade. They lingered, littered my mind. I felt the occasional zap of electricity course through me. Felt faint a couple of times. Craved a nap.
I picked up my prescriptions and took the anti-depressant before bed. I remember no dreams from last night.
I can't wait to reverse the process and get off these pills. What are they doing to my brain chemistry?
Not that one thing has anything to do with the other.
What's your Bunsen Burner?
