"Comfortably numb" doesn't work anymore.

I woke up with the phrase “comfortably numb” in my mind…not entirely sure why.  When I used to drink in the evenings, I believe this was my goal, although it was always way too easy to skate past “comfortably.”  Come to think of it, I guess it was comfortable enough for me.  My own personal experience wasn’t all too bad, except for when I woke up with remorse…but I’m pretty sure “comfortable” was about 2 glasses, if you would have asked Mike. 

Yeah, well…I stayed away from that direct question most of the time.  You know…how he felt about being in my presence, as my progression went past the 2-drink mark, into 4 or 5 sometimes. 

Let me explain.  When you are doing something unhealthy, you don’t often ask other people’s opinions of your actions.  That would be a little silly, frankly.  That’s another reason addiction flourishes…because people don’t want to ask the uncomfortable questions, say the uncomfortable answers, NOT talk about subjects which should be discussed. 

And that’s supposed to be “comfortable”? 

I guess it used to be for me, but not any longer.  Denial is probably the overused term referenced here, but with any word that is thrown around too much, it often loses its impact.  We stop thinking about denial, about our actions that create it, because we aren’t seeking to deny...we are seeking to be “comfortably numb”. I didn’t have to DENY anything most of the time. Denial just hung out in the corner, while I did my best to avoid eye contact, and after awhile…I forgot that it was even in the room and so did everyone around me.

I’m now passionate about being forthcoming with such questions.  And such answers. Numb is terribly uncomfortable for me.

This easy frankness applies not only to my past drinking, but to just about EVERYTHING.  When something is eating at me, and I feel like there’s a focused question or subject that’s a hovering ghost in the room (that elephant that we speak of), I just find a way to acknowledge it, hopefully in a way that doesn’t scare people off or make them want to run and hide, leaving me awkward and alone and wishing I would have chosen my words more carefully.  I welcome that being into acknowledgement, praying that it enters the conversation as a friend and not an enemy.  The success is entirely determined upon how I approach whatever subject matter may be at hand.

I suppose this is also a way to keep resentments to a minimum.  If I speak what’s on my mind, I don’t stew over much, and thoughts are clear to move on throughout the day.  Hours pass naturally, and luckily, thoughts and feelings progress as well. My family does this pretty easily now. Perhaps I led the way.

When I stopped drinking in the evening, my nightly hours transformed.  I had to learn how to “come down” in a natural way…coax my brain and body into relaxation and restful invitation.  I was surprised to find that I didn’t have all too much difficulty doing this.  Actually falling asleep wasn’t the issue that I assumed it was…STAYING asleep WAS. 

So, I found that once my body was asleep for about 5 hours, I woke up fairly anxious, unable to settle my thoughts, and eventually gave up, venturing down the stairs and brewing coffee before 4:00 am.  This was all fine and dandy until around noon, when my body yearned for a 3-hour nap that would complete the sleep that I needed for the night.  One big problem:  Americans don’t take siestas.  My job didn’t allow me to bug out at noon and sign back on around 3:00 to finish my day. 

Therefore, for over a year now, I’ve been experimenting with how to get 8 hours of sleep at night.  Um…that’s about 450 days in a row that I’ve NOT been comfortably numb before slumber, and definitely not comfortably numb when I awaken.  I’ve read sleep studies, and I suppose the subject got a little more serious when my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about a year ago.  There are many studies linking chronic lack of sleep to the disease, but that’s really just the beginning of the repercussions of floating through the day on an inflatable mattress of barely enough rest. 

My initial early morning anxiety (it’s really middle-of-the-night anxiety, but whatever) was the major impetus for creating these solitary meditative hours.  In truth, I was simply searching for whatever might center my thoughts, slow my breathing, calm my soul.  I had never taken the time to know what a mess I was on the many mornings that I rushed Will through his before-school routine and backed out of the driveway to scoot off to my teaching position, barely cognizant of the world around me…or the person behind the weary eyes that stole glimpses of myself in the rearview mirror.

So, if your entire morning routine has now changed during this pandemic, you may have the time to notice these hours and how you rise, and you may also be noticing all of the same things I did…some 450 days ago. Well, unless you drank too much last night. If you did that, then you are probably a little cloudy. And if you do that regularly, “you” don’t read my writing anyway. Guaranteed. People who aren’t ready to face their demons DON’T read about others in recovery, not for any prolonged amount of time. THAT’S having a stare-down with that ghost, and most people won’t engage in that pissing contest, because they might see that the opponent looks just like the image in the mirror each morning.

I noticed that I’m extremely sensitive to lack of sleep.  Well, in truth, it takes a couple of days to catch up to me…but after several 4:00 am mornings, I morph into a less consistently content being, spending more hours in a state which can best be described as “UNcomfortably numb”, then quietly discontent, and eventually, progressively pissy.

Over two weeks ago, it was beginning to wear on me, and I decided to take something that might help keep me asleep for 8 hours.  Instead of looking up the actual name, let’s just say that I took the PM part of Tylenol PM.  “Diphen….something…adrine”  Initial result:  yes, it works.  Unexpected result:  I haven’t written in the mornings for those 2 weeks either. I felt rested, but also a little numb each morning…and I had no strong feelings about writing or even what I wanted for breakfast. My thoughts stayed close to where I was sitting on the couch, and without exploration, my world even got smaller. And I can’t say that I minded this limited vision. It was important to keep my wits about me, and when I take in too much, this is sometimes difficult. I was controlling how I exposed myself to the world around me and the many responsibilities I hold, but the lack of inspiration was a side affect.

Interesting, huh?!  It’s not as if this is a powerful, addictive or mind-altering drug, but I can say that without having altered my physical being in any OTHER way, it most definitely has affected my mental production in the morning.  Perhaps good.  Perhaps bad.

I’m not entirely regretful for having taken this for over a week consistently.  My mother was still in the hospital and then transferred to a rehab facility.  If you don’t have a loved one in any kind of medical facility right now, be thankful.  It all comes with added anxiety for everyone involved, mostly for the patient of course, but there are no studies showing the added emotional and mental affects on ANYONE right now…much less the individuals and friends and family of those most affected and most vulnerable.  So, I prioritized sleep.  Personally.  I knew that I couldn’t afford to let lack of sleep affect me negatively…nor could the many people who rely on my own emotional stability…Mike, my children, work associates, my father and mother.

During this time, I drove to Houston, gathered up my dad and brought him back to Austin to spend time with our family for a few days.  It was great to have him in our home enjoying his grandchildren and able to experience our spring plantings and renovation of our new (vintage, but new to us) camping trailer.  All of this productive outdoor piddling is right up his rural alley, so it’s an easy way for him to connect to Mike and myself.  Conversations are easy, patience is key and meals are true communion, especially when they are from scratch or with the veggies that he brought from his garden…also known as the “back 40” of his enormous backyard.

So, I’ve now come to Houston, because my mother got released from rehab two days ago.  We’ve had more conversation in the past 48 hours than we have had in weeks, just sitting on the couches in the den, verbalizing whatever comes to our minds.  It’s funny…Dad just keeps his Navy Seals or Blue Bloods or law-drama-with-some-hip-hop-guy-from-the-80’s on in the background (um, there are SEVERAL), while Mom and I just talk right over it.  I have no idea if he’s listening to the TV or us, but he says he enjoys having us both around…well, until you hear him take an exasperated long intake of breath…and you wonder what’s coming next.

I’m sleeping in my childhood room, and it’s the first time I’ve been alone with my parents in this house…in years.  I decided not to take anything for sleep when I arrived, because it’s not as if I had too many responsibilities for the day over the weekend, at least not physical.  And my mother was now out of harm’s way and safe at home.

To be honest…sure, there is cooking and a little cleaning, fetching items for Mom since she’s still getting around with a walker, running to fill prescriptions, etc.  But the MAIN responsibility is talking with my mother.  Yep, that’s how I see it.  She hasn’t seen anyone except nurses and doctors from the hospital and rehab center for over 2 weeks, so it was a little like she was drinking from a communication trough, after a very long drought…a little desperate and messy, but healthy for sure. And I’m delighted to say that we’ve had a wonderful couple of days!  I have no idea how many subjects we’ve covered, and I’m sure my father isn’t aware of just how many there have been.  That’s really for everyone’s benefit.  If there’s any time NOT to remember how annoying women in our family can be when we talk over one another…NOW is a good time.

And remember when I mentioned how resentments don’t fester anymore? Yeah well…that’s why the days have been so nice. Without resentments, things that used to annoy the shit out of me, are now humorous or even appreciated. I bet my parents feel the same way about me.

Even simple decorations and quotes on the wall have made me smile each day, and I DON’T remember ever having appreciation or even NOTICE of the many things that my mom has had on these walls since my adolescence.

I’ve slept well, with no aid from any kind of drug, and I wonder why.  Is it because the worst seems to be over?  Mom is home and healing well.  I’ve self-quarantined for weeks, so I’m as comfortable with my current health status and being around my aging parents, as I CAN be in this situation.  Dad seems more relaxed than he has been in weeks, not having to stand in a flowerbed, outside of her rehab facility, chatting on my brother’s phone with my mother seen behind a window…because even though the entire goal of the trip was to talk to my mother with his cell phone…that’s the ONE thing that he forgot.  There are no grandchildren in this house, which are a joy to have around but also seem to easily annoy him with their physical energy and spastic attention. 

Nah, it’s kind of like the years after my brother left for college…just my mom and dad and myself…except I haven’t used this bedroom as an escape.  Just.  For sleep.

And now?  This writing.

The body and mind are complex beings. 

Sometimes unpredictable…or is that just denial again? When my body is in a repercussive state, it’s likely that I just don’t want to view what’s behind the symptomatic curtain. It’s nice when they agree with one another, right?  We don’t always get that, but we are thankful when it’s obvious that they are communicating well.

My family seems to trade “war stories” each morning about our night of sleep.  That’s funny.  In rehab, they used to warn us not to trade war stories of past bouts with our drug of choice.  They didn’t want us glorifying or reveling in the humor of some of our experiences, but at the same time…I’d listen to some and realize my own gratitude in the fact that I hadn’t slipped as far as others.  That didn’t make me any better, it just reminded me of why I wanted to change. 

I feel the same way when I know that my father still doesn’t sleep well, and that he has spent much of his adulthood with MUCH less sleep than is recommended. 

Recommended.

It’s astonishing how VERY LITTLE we consider what is recommended, sometimes for weeks. Years turn into decades. I mean, we are grown-ass adults and we can deny or even denounce the relevance of common medical recommendations.  My father did it with sleep, for over 30 years.  And I saw about 60% of non-masked people in Kroger do the same during my shopping visit yesterday.  The irony is that I believe these same people in refusal of the mask recommendation are also sleeping quite well at night. Denial?

I guess they were “comfortably numb.”

Welp, those are my morning’s musings for the day.  I suppose good, natural sleep was well worth the experiment the last two days.  And I bet the conversation with my mother was just as therapeutic.  Much love to you all. 

I miss the touch of my husband’s arm at night, but I’m reminded that this is my home as well.  Those years alone with my parents in this house shaped me, and I find comfort in being here right now.  I am grateful that I am not annoyed by the present circumstances or seeking to numb myself in any way.  I’ve worked hard to get here, and everyone is benefiting.

Sure, it was always recommended.  I’m glad that I took all recommendations seriously 455 days ago.

Clearly, I am not numb.  I am comfortable feeling it all.