SO my head is blurry and fuzzy as I type this.  I was thinking about insomnia as I carefully guided my clonazepam pills into the pill cutter.  I was looking at the bottle behind my pill cutter.  In nice big letters my bottle has informed me that I am to take these as needed for insomnia/anxiety.  “As needed” in my case means every night and sometimes during the day.  The hours following me taking my medication is the time when, ironically, my mind is at it’s most clear.  Everything slows down in my head and the elephantine jumble of words that were previously in complete disarray inside the gray matter that is my brain all starts to slowly make sense to me.  I am relaxed and open to the world.  This is the best time to ask me to make rational decisions.  I wish I could feel this put together (albeit fuzzy) all the time.  It is, at the very least a small break from my incredibly tense days where I feel like my “self” has stepped out and that my crazy ass body is walking around living a life while “I” am safely out of the picture.

So back to my insomnia.  I am considering asking to get back on Ambien.  Yes yes, I am very entertaining to be around and watch when I have had Ambien.  I cook and drive and carry on conversations with walls but in the end, I eventually sleep-walk back to bed and get what may be considered a restful night.  I am also looking back into going on medications again (laughs).  I mean the type that you HAVE to take every day.  You know the kind.  The kind that turns you into a walking shell of a person.  No ability to laugh or cry or get mad.  You wake up, pop your pill and become the perfect zombie the world expects from you.  Even though I consider returning to the medications, I can’t help but think I will so miss the days where I had a tad bit of creativeness within my only slightly medicated mind.  I wonder what parts of me will be lost.  Will I ever write a decent paper?  Will it take me twice as long since I will lose that part of my mind?  Will I stop caring about people?  Will I lose my personality.  The worst thing about it is being trapped inside the medicated mind that is created.  Like being in a coma where you can hear what people are saying and you are aware of this world being lived without you, being trapped in a medicated hollowed out shell of myself is agonizing.   If it were just me, I wouldn’t ever get back on the medications.  So I am a bitch.  I get it.  But I am still ME (the new me anyway).  When I am on the medications I stop making everyone else miserable and I become somewhat of a pleasant person to live with.  My kids deserve that at least.

No one, not my husband or kids, will ever look back at me and say, “She was born to be a mother”.  Never going to happen.  It’s been told to me I need therapy not kids.  It is so hurtful to hear those comments because I love my children and I love being a mother.  I love the things they do and say and I love the way they just love me.  I loved them as babies and I love them when we are in Walmart trying to check out and they throw temper tantrums.  I actually laugh at them when they do that because, damn-it, that is MY kid!  I never thought I would have kids and I remember, during the war when things were getting really scary.  We were told to write a letter home and make sure we said anything we thought our families should know.  It was right before the communications blackout in the time leading up to bombing Baghdad.  I wrote my dad.  I don’t remember the whole email, but I specifically said I cannot die here because I know I was meant to be a mother and I had to live to make sure that happened.  So when I look at my kids I do think, “Haha bastard, I have my kids.  You missed!”

Well, I guess I should go lay down and “relax” so I can utilize the time I have on this medication before it wears off.

Oh, and St Jude called.  My son goes in beginning of September to their “bleed clinic”.

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