Insomnia, Bradbury and Knives

I think it was Ray Bradbury who said at 3 a.m. one is closest to death. Or maybe he said that 3 am was the witching hour. I really can’t remember. In fact I am having a hard time remembering anything lately. But, regardless, I have found out that 3 a.m. is more like the time one is closest to buying a set of knives. Do you know how many infomercials are on early in the morning? I sure have seen a lot of them.

It started last year – my insomnia that is. I always thought that the reason I couldn’t sleep was because of college. The classes, professors, activities, tests, readings, and the parties, the list goes on forever. At my former college there were just too many distractions. It only has a student body around 1,500, so the social scene is much like high school but infused even more with alcohol, relationships, pressure, and other drugs. It was totally different from my high school of 500. During my sophomore year I just got in over my head. A full schedule, Jazz Band, Concert Band and being a Resident Assistant is a lot for a young adult to handle. What did I do? I transferred.

I came to a larger university. That’s where I am now. I am not in any bands. My course load is lightened, and most importantly I live off campus. In my mind I saw this as trying the opposite end of the spectrum. It should work, right? Well with TV Land as my witness, it hasn’t?

I try everything – TV off, TV on, music off, music on, TV and music on. I am sure you get the picture. A couple of times I have even resorted to taking a couple swigs of my old codeine cough medicine. I would take a sleeping pill but as my mom has shown me that can be a slippery slope. I simply just can’t get some sleep. When I do it’s already noon or later. Classes are in a few hours so if I stay up for them I am dead, and if I fall asleep obviously I miss class.

Well this type of behavior and problem really has a snowballing effect. Right now as I write this I am not currently a student at the university. I have a job and I am thinking about trying my luck at another university next fall (possibly taking night classes). Until then, I have decided to try and figure out what’s wrong with me.
I have a few theories. But, I only wish to share one of them with you today. I have this terrible habit of writing down everything that is going on in my life (as you can see), so I will share with you a selection from my journal from a year ago.

The first time I met her was in the laundry room. I still remember her sitting there, her blue shirt with a weird name on the back and her lime green shorts, reading (at least skimming) her biology book. We were obviously both in there for the same reason, laundry, but I distinctively remember I really didn’t plan on doing any laundry, weird huh.

When I went to put my first load in, the only washer open (at least I think it was the only one open, it could just be that it was the closest one to her and it gave me a reason to talk to her) had an amazingly large amount of that powder soap stuck in it. First of all, who uses powder soap? Secondly, a whole cup of powder soap is completely uncalled for. I don’t remember my exact first words, but I am sure it was some sort of rant about the idiot who stuffed the compartment with the soap. I remember trying to get the soap out with a spoon, and I just couldn’t do it while holding whatever I was putting the soap in. She helped me. The first thing I liked about her was her laugh. It was genuine and authentic. It was nice.

I had her yell at me when my clothes were done. I remember asking her to do a test yell to make sure I could hear her. She didn’t need to yell at me. My room is feet away from the laundry room and I can hear the washers finish their final spin. It makes a long droning noise, kind of like a semi-truck slowing down.

That was the first time I met her. I don’t remember having too much contact with her right after that but she was definitely on my mind. The bad thing was at the same time, “someone else” was on my mind. This “someone else”, lucky for me, was kind of the reason I began to hang out with her more and more. They lived across the hall from one another so when I went up there it gave me an excuse to see her.

This led to a pretty difficult decision in the end. You see, I don’t know what was happening in the girls’ minds, but in mine there was a battle, my feelings for one against the other. During this time, I hung out with her a great deal. And in the end I guess this is why I chose her, because I felt more comfortable with her. I could listen to her and she would listen to me. We never stopped talking either. If by chance we would, just for a little bit, I would say something completely random because that’s what I do.

It was great. For once, I felt like something just might go my way. You see the evolution of our relationship is really quite interesting (if you like teen movies). First, it was us just talking and watching TV with her first roommate. Then I remember taking the boldest step I have ever done with a girl, I asked a girl that I hardly knew to a dance. It sounds so stupid, but for me, a person whose ultimate fear is rejection, this was a huge step.

From here on we got closer and closer. It went kind of like this. We sat down on the futon, me at one end and her at the other. I don’t really know what she was thinking, but as we talked I just kept getting closer. I felt her doing the same thing. Finally, I made my second bold move, I grabbed her hand. She grabbed mine, and right then I felt amazing. It just seemed like everything was going perfect and we were progressing toward something.

So, I think now might be a good time to talk about “someone else”. I can’t believe what I did. The only thing that I could think of was to avoid “someone else”. Of course, as always, I made a bad decision. One night “someone else” came across the hall to the girl’s and went psycho on me. I think it was the night of homecoming. Wow, that was awkward. Yet, for some reason when “someone else” left, I felt perfectly comfortable. I feel really bad how I treated “someone else.” It wasn’t fair. And if I could go back in time I would do something different.

But after the dance, I got into a pretty routine schedule. I would come up everyday after my classes and before and after meals. She was always there. And she always had something to talk about. Work with the little kids, stuff in her classes, or just other random stuff. Yet, I enjoyed every minute of it. I enjoyed sitting there doing nothing but listening to her. You know what I found out? I found out that she really is a truly loving and caring individual. She is always worried about how everyone is doing and how they are feeling.

I know what you are thinking, you are a virgin! Ha-ha let it out. Yes I am, but only because I am deathly afraid of rejection and getting hurt. Until college I only had one relationship and it was short lived. Back to the point, when I was writing this I was as happy as I have ever been. (Except for how I felt about crapping on “someone else.”) This girl and I had a relationship in the brew (if you are wondering I only write a journal once a month that is why it covers so much time) and things were going great. So how does this relate to my problem? Read this journal (in the style of a letter) that I wrote on April 10, 2006, my birthday.

Dear her,

Perhaps you are unaware of the impact you have on my fragile mind. Do you not realize the pain and sorrow brought upon me by your actions? My life has been flipped upside down and shaken. In three days I have become a raging alcoholic. You have taken everything from me – my friends, my hope, my confidence, and my sanity. I highly doubt that you will ever remember me or dwell on anything that we did. Since, as months have passed I have become nothing to you. Not a friend, not a person, just an inconvenience that came by often to bother you. I first came to know you and understand you. You responded and shared so much with me. But now I know that you were acting the whole time, making sure that I never entered and saw who you really are. And I regret that, I regret never finding that out. If I would, I could have saved myself 6 months of emotional and psychological ups and downs. But, as the saying goes what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right. Until we meet again, when we do, I hope we are in hell.

-Me

As you can see these two journals have a little bit of difference in their tone and word choice. What happened? Let me give you the short version (the really short version). We got close before Christmas break. When we got back I noticed she was different. She didn’t talk to me as much and acted strange when we were together. But let me reiterate she never shared any problems that she had with me. Then she had some problems with her family and I thought we got closer. Turns out we separated even further. We didn’t talk for awhile. Then we did and she said everything was fine. Then three days before my birthday, I walked in on her and another guy in bed. Worst of all, I was really drunk and happened to have keys in my pocket – luckily I couldn’t find my car.

Then I started drinking and drinking. I think I got up to about two thirty packs a week and another on the weekend. I still went to class and got high marks. I still ate just fine. But, I did separate myself from society. I left very late for class so that I wouldn’t see her (we lived in the same dorm). I didn’t eat at normal times to avoid her in the cafeteria. I also left my friends alone. I didn’t tell them anything. If they asked to do something or eat with me, lucky for me I was in the process of writing a forty page research paper so I could use that as an excuse.

The whole situation was fairly bad. It wasn’t why I transferred, by the way. I made my mind up to do that way before this happened. And, if you are wondering if my transferring could have been a reason for our problems it could have. But, her breaking off what we had wasn’t why I felt the way I did. You see, I loved her – and still do. She has been the only love of my life. And she had me believing that she could possibly feel the same way. When I wrote the letter, I could see that she never did and that is what hurts the most. That is possibly why I can’t sleep.

I still think of her everyday. Sometimes I think I see or hear her. I miss her, but I don’t miss what we had. We had nothing. It was all a scam. What I miss the most, what I think about day and night, and what I lose sleep over is what I never had (what I never can have). That is her love. And loving without being loved in return, that's possibly the closest thing I know to death.