I don't take sleeping pills. In fact, I don't take any pills at all, if I can help it.
Every now and again, I like to remind people that I'm an insomniac. I don't sleep, as a habit. I once rationalised that I didn't actually enjoy being asleep, rather than any particular physical or psychological reason behind it. I'm sure there is a deeper meaning, but I've sort of come to terms that it's because I don't like it, so avoid it. There are times when this wears particularly thin though.
I'm sure this next part isn't going to illicit much in the way of sympathy, but I don't care.
I've been pulling in weeks of working 9-5 at the Cathedral office since the middle of July. Thanks to this, not only was there a brief and shining island of being out of my overdraft at the end of August, but I'll be even further out soon due to when my hours get added up, meaning I'll still benefit from all this work in October. The sad truth of it all is that frankly I'm not well suited to working the front desk. I'm not really wired up to answer the phone and greet people all day. It's very draining being constantly asked by people how I fare, when I answer honestly and tell them I might not be feeling as great as maybe they are or they would expect me to be, and being questioned as to why. Sometimes, these people who come to the door are so unfailingly rude it beggars belief; only today I had one caller who proclaimed loudly that "a man like you would not understand!" in regards to handing over a length of fabric to the correct person, before leaving so disgruntled that I said something deeply offensive. I now feel upset, as I obviously missed a chance to do so, the outcome being the same either way.
One of the defining points of my disability is that I am not good with people, but as part of this job I have to deal with people for almost 7 straight hours. I say almost depending on what I do for lunch. But there I am, having to deal with queries that range from the mundane to the bizarre to people thinking that because I can't connect them to the right office, explaining their problem to me will magically sort it out. What does this have to do with sleeping pills? I recently worked out that I'm awake for at least 18 hours a day, sometimes longer. Sure, I turn up in a suit clutching a mug for tea and pretty much have a working strategy for the phone and everything, but I'm still not sleeping enough for a day at the desk. I don't want to be asleep though! And now we're back in choir term, so I go straight to evensong after I finish. Sometimes I'm late to rehearsal, which I absolutely hate. I'm tired by the time I get home, and in all honesty can't be bothered to cook because I know I'll need to do the washing up later, by which time I'll be more tired, and then I'll get to bed and find... I just don't want to go to sleep.
Keep taking the pills... No. Don't take the pills. I used to be on Amphetamines for my hyperactivity, years ago. I ended up taking myself off them cold turkey because the girl I was seeing at the time managed to persuade me to do so on the grounds that they were bad for me in the long run or something, I dunno. I was getting quite a bit of sex in that relationship at the time, so you can see how my judgement might have been clouded ever so slightly. I was proud that I could manage without them though. Then I went to University.
My University career isn't the wall-to-wall success story that others seem to have enjoyed (or at least put on their websites that they did) thanks to various factors. One of the major stumbling blocks I encountered was being suicidally depressed for most of my second year, which isn't something I'd advise for anybody, no matter who they are. This is about as far from joking that I can get. There were times, when I sat there in that dark, cold, and often empty house, thinking about the most or least painful way to go, or what would make the least mess (I wouldn't want to cause too much of a problem), what would be quickest, or perhaps the most painful way to die. I have been to dark places.
Weeks without eating properly, not so much alcohol (but still a lot), and weeks where I wouldn't sleep for days as well. And a violent bout of food poisoning. Oh, and the Swine Flu? It was a weird year. Of course there were calls for me to be medicated, to embark on a course of anti-depressants. I dodged. Somehow, I avoided taking them. There are a number of friends in my life who have looked down that same knife edge, wondering just what the point is; they have been there and they have come back time after time, and the most consistent piece of advice I've heard is "Don't take anti-depressants". Tales of violent mood swings and lack of appetite without any discernible benefits have soured me for ever more, short of a miracle, from taking a course of pills. My mood and appetite are bad enough without a further chemical cosh to worry about. I drink very heavily for a man of my slight weight and low body fat as well, and even if I don't have a problem now, I've certainly had one in the past that looking back, I've managed to hide quite well. There were several points, especially in my second year at uni and funnily enough here in Truro, where I was doing services distinctly less than sober, and that's simply unacceptable.
Third year came though, which was easily one of the best combinations of people and circumstances I think I've ever had. There were still plenty of times when I didn't come out of my room... Well, maybe not plenty. There were, however, plenty of people to help look after me when I didn't. There's little to say here now except for a concreting of that position that I wouldn't take anti-depressants. And also sleeping pills. We can cut to my second year as Choral Scholar at this point.
Various students from UEA every year fly to foreign colleges, either on exchanges or on straight up years abroad. The difference in 2012/13 is that this time, I knew some of them, including one whose brushes with suicide make mine look paltry. Staying up late to best the time difference to hear about hospitalisation, poorly implemented and extremely expensive medical care and disaster after disaster were awful. Nobody deserves it. I too was in a bad place, so bad a place in fact that I almost walked out of Truro. There are some people who are very disappointed that I didn't, but I oh dunno, I have to win sometimes, even if only by the skin of my teeth. Once more though, the call goes out: sleeping tablets, anti-depressants... Still the answer is as strong! No! Then, last year, somebody had an accident. Somebody who was suicidal enough at the time, what with relationship collapse on top of a mountainous workload, had an accident. They accidentally overdosed and put themselves back into hospital. This was shattering to me. I ended up weeping openly in public that day.
One of the things that stopped me from actually going the whole hog in second year (again, uni or as scholar) was "What if I change my mind and it's too late?" I know that even though a depressive episode can last a long time, they do end; there is hope. What if, motivated by sheer emptiness, I had decided to kill myself in a slow and irreversible manner, but then decided I didn't really want to die after all? There would be no going back. There'd be no chance to put two feet on the ground when I got out of bed ever again. No more anything ever again, and that frightens me. How easy would it be to make a rash decision? To load up on pills, maybe after coming back, tanked up? Things like that simple sensation of fear pull me back. Remind me that there are people other than me who are invested in my life, and often more so. I have no wish to let any body down by giving up like that. What would the Big Man say? What would anybody say? No matter how bad things get while I'm alive, at least there's chance to improve on what's gone before, even if it's just by virtue of living another day.
I'm sure this hasn't been an easy read. It hasn't been an easy write either, but it's kind of been sat there in my head for quite a while; I was just waiting for the right title to appear, and having found some new inspiration settled on this one. It's not Orlando this time, but maybe the keen-eyed among you will work out the theme. Things aren't too bad, even if I can't seem to shake this depression at the moment. It looks bad and it feels bad and maybe I ought not to be so bad, but soon I'll stop working full time and I'll be able to put my little Castle of Heaven back together and manage again. As difficult as it gets, I do in fact choose life. I already decided to dismiss ending my own life as an option entirely, not a valid choice. I will manage myself, without any medication unless it becomes completely impossible and I cease to function... But we're a long way from that yet, if at all.
Now, I don't know about you but I'm going to turn in and retire for the evening. Sleep tight.
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