Sleepless Nights

Many days, more than I would like, are bad nights for me. Some nights, are terrible. From panic attacks, paranoia, flashbacks, and hallucinations of moving shadow men, my nights keep me up. Without my meds I am incapable of sleep, but even some nights, such as tonight as I am writing this, I just cannot fall asleep. I would not dare take anymore sleep meds as I have to be up at 6 to get ready for work. Lucky for me, work ends at 4, unlucky for me, I have to watch kids for gymnastics. With only a 2 time hour slot for a good power nap I know tomorrow is going to be very very looong. I wanted to write what I do when I cannot sleep, why I cannot sleep, and something that is always on my mind.

When I was younger, I would read. I would do this now, but I have something that 10 year old me did not have. A phone. YouTube horror and information videos are my go to sleep aids. Something about someone droning on about the creatures in the sea helps me to fall asleep easier. Books wake me up, when I read I am immersed in the story, no way out once I start. I would bake, but who has the money, well, what college student has the money to bake sweets every night.  I would love to start reading more “sophisticated” , “mature” books, as my go to guilty pleasure, and really my only pleasure, is reading supernatural romances. I want to read Asimov, maybe King. Something “Grown up”. I feel if I read this genre of book it will help me to mature and grow up as a person. as well as help improve my knowledge. Maybe my writing will get better, maybe I realize some life changing epiphany and drop out of school and become the female Bill Gates, least likely, but it could happen.

Most people ask me how khan helps me during my sleepless nights. God knows when I have really bad nights, there is only so much he can do before paramedics have to intervene. But Khan helps turn even the smallest problem and attack into something that 10 year old me could have handled. I have a bad history of holding things in, holding until I just snap one day, and I snap hard. My body is the main  target. Littered with scars and heart failure my body has taken quite a toll, and I am still under 20 years old. This type of problem had become natural to me. Never sleeping, and battering on my body until I end up weeks to months in the hospital learning more and more hobbies that just hide problems. Khan has come to help me realize I can’t just hold everything in, sometimes I need to cry, I need to shout, to voice my opinion. As my designated shrink, Khan has heard more stories than a avid reader. But just being able to sit in bed and tell Khan my worries about failing college, to how I can’t feel hunger or Full signals, and how I love my family and friends, gives me clarification that I am alive. When I am in a crying fit he immediate comes to me like my knight in shiny armor to pressure therapy heal. And when I am in the bathroom contemplating on taking a razor to my wrists, Khan comes and pushes me out of the bathroom, jumps on the bed, and does his doggy smile at me. As if he is saying it will be OK, he is a constant reminder of how far I have come, and how far I will go. Saving me from myself, and showing me how much I love life.

 Being alive, although tough, is the best gift ever given to me. Some nights, while Khan is asleep to my side and Yoda lays on my chest I think back to one hospital visit I won’t ever forget, or let go. Screaming and yelling at my parents to just let me die, thinking why did they have to be so damn persistent on me living, when all I wanted was blissful end, or so I thought I wanted. At the time I was mentally and physically unstable. My heart was at risk of failure due to my anorexia and Bulimia, my body fighting against the bottle of pills I had swallowed, and my mind, tricking and pulling me more and more towards suicide. I remember laying in that hospital bed, my dad sitting across from me, crying, his little girl was begging to die, I would have cried too. But he tried to stay strong for me, he has always been so strong. And my mother, she was dried up from crying so hard, and yet some tears still came as I looked right inter her eyes and asked for them to just let me die. Thinking back, I can not believe how selfish I was to want to throw away the most precious gift my parents ever gave to me, my life. Here I was, begging for them to throw away years of life they have worked so hard to provide for me, down the drain, all because I had given up on my self. At that point I was done. I was done with the sleepless nights, done with the flashbacks of sexual assault, and I was done being me.  Its what my parents did that day, that has helped me go through every obstacle in life with my eyes forward. They stuck by my bed side all day, even when they were asked to leave for me to get tested they were just outside the door.  It makes me cry, because when I was born my mother told my dad to follow the doctor that took me away for cleaning, to follow me, and make sure I was safe. He has never stopped following, making sure I was safe, and that day was what made that even truer. Them staying by me, ignoring my pleas for death, and holding me as I cried is what got me through life even to this day. Khan, my friends, and family, yes are a big help. But my parents are my world.

When things get hard for me, I immediately call my parents up, when something exciting, or boring happens to me, I call my parents. I want them to know the gift they gave me that I almost threw away so selfishly is being used, and being used in the greatest way I can. I am not perfect. I never was, and never will be, at least in my eyes i won’t be. But in my parents eyes, I am the most perfect, along with my perfect siblings, we are all perfect in our parents eyes. I took what they gave me for granted when I was younger, now, I don’t.  And though we will fight, its typical to disagree sometimes, I will always take what they tell me to heart. i think some lighter talk now would be good, as even as I wrote this I was crying. So ill talk more about my mom and her consistently calling my male cat a she.

My mother likes to call my baby boy Yoda a she, ALL THE TIME. I do not know how many times I have had to correct her that Yoda is a Tom Cat, not a female cat. But in her words, he is just too pretty to be a boy cat. I don’t see it, in my eyes Yoda is the manliest man cat there is. Just like Khan is the toughest handsome good boy there is. But don’t take my word for it, Ill just post some pictures of my handsome boys and you can be the decider.