Friday, July 30, 2010

sleepyhead.

i am going to attempt to document my insanity. so this is an experiment of sorts. and i'm not comfortable doing it, but it's hilarious and weird so i have to. i haven't been gone to sleep in over a week. so i have fallen asleep, but not really SLEPT. does that make sense? maybe an hour or two a night, punctuated by an insane amount of snapping wide awake and bolting from the bed. because in addition to making me sensitive and irritable and crazy, these steroids make it IMPOSSIBLE to get any goddamned rest. i have a pad and pencil next to my bed at all times (in case i have to make an impromptu police sketch after bringing some shady manfriend home, of course) and lately i've been using it to keep a tally of the number of times i get up during the night. to pee or to get a drink or to stand in the middle of my kitchen staring into space or to quickly run the garbage out or fold the load of laundry i left by the door or to paint my toes or send scathing emails to sean hannity or read the instructions for my new dust buster three times in a row. the thoughts just keep coming, stream of consciousness-style. i wonder if this is what it feels like right before ordinary people have a psychotic break. it certainly feels like it. how i can't stop blathering about the same thing i've been talking about to everyone all day. i talked at asshole four separate times today about that herbal tea dude. FOUR TIMES. and i rambled at matt for an hour and a half about nothing at all, a cornucopia of crazy ranging from why dudes suck so hard and how much i hate watching the view and did he want to go to mexico with me in september for heather's birthday? i'm TIRED, and i'm making everyone else tired, too. since i came home last saturday, i have gotten approximately thirteen total hours of sleep. and gotten out of my bed 119 times. ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN little hatch marks in my notebook. and that's probably not even all of them, because i'm sure i forgot in the rush to get up and do something important, like wash my face for the 37th time. the cat doesn't even know what to do with herself when i start pacing and muttering and taking four showers in one evening because this shit makes me sweat so fucking badly, so she has taken to sleeping under the bed or tucked in the back of the closet to stay out of my warpath. i'm not an anxious person generally, but i am anxious NOW. at night the swelling starts and i feel itchy and twitchy and nervous and then my brain cycles out of control and i work myself to near-hysteria. it's exhausting. but not enough that i might actually go to SLEEP.

but on the flip side corticosteroids make it possible for you to get through the next day with the energy of an eight-year-old. it's the craziest feeling ever. at night, they make me TWEAK. which is why i haven't been calling bitches and hanging out or doing anything at night. because i turn into a crazy vampire crackhead, jittery and twitching and twittering around my goddamned house looking for some shit to get into. but during the day you'd never know that i haven't slept in a week OR that i devolve into a blathering idiot shortly after night falls. i can fend it off if i'm out doing something, but if i come home it's all over for my sanity. i still have another three weeks to taper off this shit, and i can't even imagine what that is going to be like. it's the longest time i've ever been on this nasty business. terrifying. i'm like a crazy person. it usually hits me around ten or eleven o'clock? when i can't sit still and start shaking out of control. and i do crazy person things like make lists and lists and lists and think about crazy things and write SO MANY THINGS DOWN. i made a conscious decision not to write my blog during these psychotic episodes, but then i just sat here and wrote rachel and amanda three page-long crazy rambling emails and made six lists of SHIT and i thought it would be interesting to write some shit here for you dudes to read. my brain is full of STUFF. stuff it can't process. and steroids make it impossible to shut that shit off.

i wish i wasn't sick anymore. i mean, really. people think the diarrhea is the worst of it, or not having milk and beer or whatever. fuck all that. i spend huge sections of my life tweaking the fuck out on drugs that would knock a grown man on his ass, tiptoeing around my house at two in the morning for fear of waking up all the invisible people asleep in my building. what has it been? ten days or something? sitting awake flushed and sweating (SIDE EFFECT) on the edge of the bed, directly in the path of the air conditioner, staring like a zombie at the television, watching the same three shows on msnbc over and over so many times that i have them memorized. eventually i have to lie on the floor, 1 because they make me so HOT and 2 to elevate my feet over my head so that all of the water this shit makes me retain can drain out of my feet and into my head or wherever it goes. it is time for my period in a few minutes, too, so that makes me triple insane. and i'm not sleeping.

these are the side effects, according to our old friend doctor internet:
because oral corticosteroids affect your entire body instead of just a particular area, this form is the most likely to cause significant side effects. side effects depend on the dose of medication you receive. (sam is on what some people might refer to as an "astronomically high dose.") within days or weeks of starting oral therapy, you may have an increased risk of:

difficulty sleeping, feeling of a whirling motion, increased appetite, uncontrollable sweating, indigestion (oh, FOR REALS?!), nervousness, restlessness, elevated pressure in the eyes (glaucoma); fluid retention, causing swelling in your lower legs; increased blood pressure; mood swings; weight gain, with fat deposits in your abdomen, face and the back of your neck (SEXY); cataracts; high blood sugar, which can trigger or worsen diabetes; increased risk of infections; loss of calcium from bones, which can lead to osteoporosis and fractures; menstrual irregularities; suppressed adrenal gland hormone production; thin skin, easy bruising and slower wound healing.

and if you don't taper off the shit, if you just decide to go cold turkey and stop taking them, you will be FUCKED UP. once i just stopped taking them because, in addition to every other fucking thing, they give me a constant SPLITTING headache (which totally exacerbates the crazy). and you can't take ibuprofen or naproxen while on prednisone without fear of blowing out your fucking liver, and tylenol doesn't goddamned work. i'm on some next level suffering over here. tylenol is like a fucking sugar pill to a bitch like me.so i stopped the pred so i could start taking advil, and it is like HEROIN WITHDRAWAL. joint pain, muscle pain, nausea, fainting, vomiting, headache. makes you want to jump off a goddamned building.

i was up until three o'clock this morning making a list of all of the songs i could think of that began with the letter A, pages and pages and pages of SHIT. IN MARKER. you know that i'm convinced that one day i'm going to die in here, alone, and if i am surrounded by these legal pads full of scribbles you dudes are going to talk so much shit at my memorial service and i can't even handle it. i have a list of all of my mortal enemies, real and imagined; a list of dudes i've slept with; an even longer list of dudes i wish i could sleep with; a list of names i think are stupid; a list of people i wish would die; a list of people i wish i could kill with my bare hands; a special list of people i wish would get hit by a bus and live; a list of all the books on my bookshelves; every artist, every album, and every song on one of my ipods (the nano, at least); all of the things i would buy with my imaginary money; detailed accounts of everything i have eaten in the last week; recipes i copied off the internet; pablo neruda poems.

being awake when the rest of the universe is asleep is disconcerting. i want to go to bed, but i can't. and i can't call anyone. because i am crazy and they are not awake. i'm having a fucked-up week, too. i mean some real sucker shit has gone down and i don't need this bullshit on top of this other bullshit. it's getting harder and harder for me to shake off raggedy shit in my old age. i might not be saying that right. this is better: i take everything so personally nowadays. and maybe i always have. but it really fucked me up, that whole paying to listen to some self-important windbag blather at me for forty-five minutes. i know i didn't DO anything, but i keep rolling and rolling and rolling it over and over in my brain and it's making me so angry. because the universe is unfair. there is a sheet of paper over my bed that says "i just need a break" that jeff drew for me, and sometimes i lie on my back with my ass against the wall and my feet in the air (trying to draaaaaaaaain) and stare at that shit and it makes me cry.

it's like my internal engine is just idling idling idling high and i can't turn it off. i tried to exercise myself tired, but instead i feel oddly exhilarated, which isn't really a samantha kind of emotion if you know me even in the least bit. benedryl doesn't work, and because of all of the contraindications of everything i'm taking right now (i swear to god if i cut myself right now i'd bleed ground-up white powder and half-digested gel capsules) i can't take anything stronger. so i'm wide awake at two in the morning writing this drivel and trying to gauge how much plaque is collecting on my teeth.

pred makes you hungry and insatiably thirsty, then it gives you indigestion and the uncontrollable urge to urinate. but i've severed my relationship with food, as you well know, and drinking a lot means peeing a lot and a couple nights ago i had a glass of water before i fell asleep at my desk and i woke up in a wet diaper. because i have to wear a diaper at night. TO DEAL WITH ALL OF THIS PEEING. i really showed that fez-wearing numerologist, didn't i? who's exciting NOW?! you might be representing yourself in federal court in a lawsuit against the government to regain control of your money within the federal reserve, but I peed in a POISE PAD. i'm obviously the winner.

the asshole called me a "special breed of asshole" earlier, and this is probably the biggest indication of why i've earned that distinction. right now i am sitting in a diaper made for an incontinent septuagenarian, asshole lubricated with desitin, talking shit about some dude's funny hat and grandiose world takeover plots. i don't lack perspective, and i have an amazing sense of humor and irony, but it really is a testament to my supreme arrogance that i can sit here and make a case for why fez trumps diaper in the grand interpersonal relationship failure scheme. i mean i'm a lunatic, obviously.

sometimes music makes the crazy worse. the mood swings are like nothing you've ever seen, and anyone who has been around me when i'm having one can attest to that. i have a pretty dark streak that i keep relatively well buried, and sometimes it feels like the prednisone burrows in deep just to coax it out of hiding. sometimes it's rage, sometimes it's tears (at night especially), and then sometimes it's sort of a reserved mania. like, i'll wash and rewash the dishes several times before forcing myself to walk away. anyway, i was listening to the "chet baker sings" because it's a really good one to try to settle myself down to. it's very quiet and pretty and soothing, and he has the most lovely, gentle voice. so i was lying in the dark, headphones on, and "i've never been in love before" came on. now, i am a weepy person. at inexplicable and sometimes socially awkward times. i think it's because i'm so used to shutting people out and being sharp and nasty when dealing with actual humans because i've been so hurt that instead all of that sorrow manifests itself in other ways, like during sappy television commercials and maudlin love songs. i listened to that song for over an hour, on constant repeat. then "time after time." holy fuck. i forgot i had mascara on and ruined the goddamned pillowcase.

that's another thing i do, too. sit in the bathroom and put makeup on out of sheer boredom and lacking the wherewithall to do anything more constructive. i can do a perfect smoky eye, both with shadow AND with kohl. and my liquid cat eye is looking downright presentable. after another week or two of not needing more than seven minutes of shut-eye i should be a regular dick page or pat mcgrath. for someone who chooses to wear grease and chapstick every day in lieu of actually putting her face together in any sort of pseudo-elegant way, i have every expensive and unnecessary cosmetic product under the sun. and i only use them when i'm not going to leave the house. i'm not even kidding when i say that it gets tragic in here sometimes. just me and this cat and my brain that will not fucking TURN OFF no matter how hard i try. it's so frustrating. shit, "white turns to gray" just came on the shuffle. now i'm a goner.

i invent a lot of things in the wee small hours of these mornings, too. all sorts of gadgets and doodads and corporations i want to start. i really am so heated about paying for that grilled cheese. my dad was a tough piece of shit kind of dad, and he used to talk to me ALL THE TIME about finding a man that IS A MAN. he was in the military and fought in korea before coming home crazy as cat shit, but he was fucking adamant about men and how they should behave. he's the reason i have all of those wacko rules about things like shortened pants and not carrying a bag when there's a dick around i can hang it on. and i can't stop thinking about how one iron duke would crush that dude's skull in his bare hands the second he heard him say, "so this is on you, right? maybe next time it'll be on me" or whatever weak tea dribbled out of his mouth. i'm such a snot and a princess and a baby, and i would have gotten up to leave if it wouldn't have caused a scene. you know how i feel about scenes. i don't DO public embarrassment. so i paid and tried to hustle him out of the restaurant and right out of my life.

my most exciting new idea is to create a dating service for which you are required to submit a few paystubs and a copy of your monthly expenditures before you can communicate with another person. stop looking at me like that. no one else would see it, i promise. you just have to prove to the powers that be (ie, webmaster sam) that you can indeed AFFORD to make the acquaintance of a nice young man or woman. or old man or woman, shit, i don't give a fuck. if it looks to me like your money is tight, your rent checks always go out on the tenth, your cell phone is riddled with late fees, your car payments are behind, you don't get to go out with anyone. as a matter of fact, you have to get your ass the fuck off my site. your broke ass needs to be somewhere saving up for a rainy day, not wasting the time of some pretty little thing who's trying to go to schwa. this shit is genius and you know it. don't steal my idea just because i'm vulnerable right now.

if i can get a couple hours of sleep my brain rights itself, resets itself, makes it possible for me to function for at least another day. until the monster grabs hold of me again. i've tried twice already this evening (it's three now), to no avail. i'm going to give it another shot.

i let herbal tea down via email today. i was going to be a dick and never call him again, but he both called AND emailed me today (once you buy them something they belong to you FOREVER). and he said i'd made a fantastic impression on him, which is interesting considering i said fewer than twenty words, and most of them were to the waitress. you know, when i got the CHECK. barf. if he were any kind of gentleman at all he would have suggested starbucks and then pretended not to want anything. who in this day and age, what ADULT, leaves the house with a pocket full of loose change? he should be ashamed of himself. and he said that he felt amazing chemistry when he hugged me. oh yeah? those are called breasts.

i tried to be polite and diplomatic in my response, but i don't really do polite very well. and i'm TOTALLY FUCKING SALTY. i said he was "interesting" (kiss of fucking death) and that i didn't feel the same magic, and then i hammered this nail into his coffin: "and i got the impression that you aren't really financially able to date? i'm at a place in my life where i'd like to be out exploring the city and having a good time. take care of yourself." wear a real fucking shirt next time. and moisturize your fucking elbows!

i swore to myself that no matter how long and psychotic and humiliating this turned out that i was going to publish it anyway and let you jerks make fun of my rapid descent into the depths of hell. i pale at the thought of three more weeks of this. three more weeks of being awake all of the goddamned time and BATSHIT CRAZY for half those waking hours. my fingers and feet are swollen like sausages right now, so i am going to take some pills and try to sleep with my feet over my head. it's 3:17 in the morning and i have to be up in three hours to fight my way through another 11-hour workday. first i'm going to make a list of my favorite forest whitaker movies. and wash my hands again. goodnight. good morning.