"How many days this week were you unable to sleep or stay asleep? Most days, sometimes, or not at all?"
Three years ago, I was in another city for work and it was my day off. I was pretty restless that day, buzzing around my hotel room and fighting the impulse to drive to the island that was an hour away. I couldn't tell you what I was thinking then, or at any point during that time of my life really. Sometimes it feels like I'm telling a story about someone else. I ended up leaving, and when I finally made it to the beach it felt like I stumbled into somewhere I wasn't meant to be -- like when you show up too early for a wedding and walk into a stranger's funeral. I turned towards the person behind me,"Can you take my picture?"
"Four, maybe five days."
I thanked my impromptu photographer and left. I was there no longer than 5-10 minutes before taking the hour journey back to the hotel, with that icky jittery electric feeling shooting throughout my body.
"So most days?"
I used to think that feeling meant I was doing good, like when I was working excessively. But I also felt that way when I spent hundreds of dollars on things I didn't need. When I called every one of my unsuspecting contacts 3AM, talking so rapidly and for so long. When I'd pace through the card section of a store in the middle of the night, imagining what it would feel like to receive one; Happy Birthday Granddaughter, It's Your 25th Anniversary!, Have a Spooky Halloween, Welcome Back! We Missed You, Congratulations On the New Home. I have so many blank cards stored in my closet. When I thought about driving into that passing train. And many, many other things that I still feel too ashamed to talk about.
Needless to say I was in fact not doing good.
