Marc Maron:
"My brain is full of psychic tendrils all looking to grab hold of something to worry about, and they're relatively successful at finding stuff. Every day I have to go through the process of getting each one of them to let go, and there's a lot of them and I gotta do it separately, it's a fucking nightmare. It all breaks down to fear. And the other element is just some poorly parented part of myself wants parents, wants to be comforted, even with bullshit."
I sleep like shit, kind of. I mean, I got the CPAP thing going, and for quite a while now it's been giving me high marks. Five or below. Five is the goal so technically I'm doing pretty good. But I wake up tired. What the fuck? Like everything else in life, CPAP helps, but it is not the divine solution they make it out to be. There's always a fucking catch, baby.
I wake up a couple of times a night, but I fall back asleep pretty quickly. Still, there's disruption. My goal is to wake up wake up at 7:00. That seems to be the point where I feel fairly decent. The catch is, that rarely happens. I'm more likely to wake up around 5 or 5:30, and then I'm screwed. The brain starts humming. Psychic tendrils on the hunt.
Three, four, five things (or more) to worry about bounce around my skull. I deep breathe, try the mantra thing, nothing stops the monster from torturing me. Next thing you know I'm up feeding the cats.
And yawning.
Marc's a little more detail oriented than me. I don't go through the process of dealing with each worry. I just let them pile up until they blend into one heavy-duty WORRY, until I have a five hundred pound weight on my chest making it very difficult to breathe.
Fear is definitely in the equation. I'm afraid this will happen, afraid that will happen, afraid I will never change, afraid I'll lose my looks (kidding, for Christ sake - lighten up). Not sure about the poorly parented thing (although Tony and Revia and I definitely did not see eye to eye); I'm not sure I'm still reacting to that. But I definitely yearn for comfort.
Every morning, every night, when Patsy's in my lap, I wish my whole day could feel like this. It is perfect. The sweet sensitivity, love and comfort - the overwhelming feeling of sweet innocence and trust, the purity of the moment. Instead, once I start moving, it's nothing but razor blades.
I'm getting much better at not giving a fuck though, and that is progress. It helps. For the longest time - years - I spent every off day obsessing about how I'm going to make a million dollars to buy me some peace of mind and safety. Now I go days without doing anything about it.
I mean, who cares? It's too late. I'm doomed to pay the price for my mistakes so I might as well just roll the dice and hope I get five or ten years of status quo before it all comes crashing down.
It would be nice if I could sleep soundly for those five or ten years.
I'd rather not wait until I'm dead.
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