I have a wonderful ability. Well I think. I think I have the ability to pause, press play, rewind, fast forward and slow motion my dreams. And nightmares. Well almost. I seem to drop the remote (which is most accurate, especially if I was scared) and give it to someone else during the “freak you the f out” dream moments. During the pee your pants a little stuff that everyone pretends not to close their eyes to. This is aided by one of my awesome medications, serraquel, which results in even more vivid dreams, that someone else, not me, controls. Read freaky clown chasing you in slow motion, on repeat in 3 medicated D. And just as you are about to press stop and wake up, I do this, have a cigarette, and immediately go back to some else controlled chucky clown chasing town. Don’t get caught up with the Chucky ain’t a clown thing. Same creepy category for me.
Now I’m not a psychiatrist or neurologist so I don’t understand all this brain functioning stuff, but this perilous pause habit, also – and you’ll excuse the dryness – plays out in how I remember / I suppose process in my life too. My kids laugh and say that I have a memory of a goldfish, and that it’s not a pause, but because I forget. On a good day, I don’t know where I’ve put my hair, sprouting out of my head. And it’s probably true. I can walk from my kitchen to my bedroom and entirely forget why I was there or what I intended to do. And I would try and pause for no perilous reason whatsoever – and NOTHING. And actually, I wanted to inflict peril the most, on this most porous memory of mine.
In addition to my perilous pause, my virtual video is that it replays on repeat, PARTICULARLY painful memories, usually when I can least digest them. For example, I will remember what happened to me a long time ago that was awfully painful – and each time I remember it, I experience the pain anew. And this is when pressing pause over and over and over again and reliving replays just isn’t fun anymore. As if it ever was. Think: walk down the passage (struck by painful memory), breathe and walk some more (struck by painful memory), etc. It’s like your brain is birthing some or other era of your life, with frequent pangs of discordant memory flooding your body. And it hurts so badly. I don’t know what to do. I want to crawl into myself, lay in a foetal position, feel sorry myself, and crawl into me some more.
Most of my life has left me not wanting to engage in any kind of mental media, given my brain and heart’s penchant for doing sh*t in an extremely extra way. So I don’t just scare me. I scare me repeatedly. Slowly. Stephen King on streriods. So, so, so much fun in the dark. And I’m tired of it. So this may not sound very mental health friendly, but I’m a lot going to put myself to bed tonight. I’m gonna go with the double strength chamomile tea and say goodbye to this most torturous mental movie of me. What do you do to cope? Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t. I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.