3 A.M. Eternal

I feel like I’m spilling out.

In the daylight, I am so sleepy. But, I can’t sleep. I feel manic, I think. I think manic is the correct description. I don’t want to sleep. I just want to skip sleep. I want the day to begin. I want to have a groundbreaking, revelatory, game-changing visit with my neurologist. I want A CURE FOR PAIN!

The truth is, I’ll probably fall asleep around 4 AM and feel like death when my alarm sounds. And I’ll see myself looking back to now and wonder, “Why didn’t I sleep?!?”

What is it about the nighttime that makes me feel like this? Do I have bipolar disorder? Parkinson’s Disease? Am I truly my father’s daughter?

My gut bulges. Looks like I’m pregnant. I did just gorge myself on Trader Joe’s cereal and sweet potato tortilla chips. As if to say, “FUCK YOU GASTROINTESTINAL TRACK! I’M THE BOSS! I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE BROKEN!”

I want the radioactive eggs out. I feel them in me. I puked when I got home. But not enough to get all of the eggs out of my system.

I keep getting this panic. This terror: my quality of life is never going to improve. My life is forever going to be pain, hospitals, surgeries … hoping I’ll be allowed to go to the bathroom. It’s like when I was young and I would lie in the grass and stare up at the big sky and think, “Why are we here?” I’d feel this twinge in my stomach. This sense of pointlessness. Futility. But it was small. I was psyching myself out. It was fun, in a demented way.

But now … my gut is failing me. I am bloated and uncomfortable. I am a full-time patient. The driving, the waiting rooms, hospital stays, ER visits, phone calls, emails, “HEALTH” insurance, battling to get bills paid.

I want to go to concerts, movies, plays. To travel again. But I think those days are over. No one seems to be able to deal with this pain. This malfunctioning body. I don’t know why my partner is with me. I feel like such a burden. He is a saint.

I want the radioactive eggs OUT. I want my brain to quiet down.

Everyone thinks I’m doing so well because I’m upbeat. The truth is that I’m drowning and need help. My brain feels wrong. I need a reboot.

Please sing me to sleep.

[Written at 3:09 AM in a notebook (!) on August 13, 2019.]