I think one more sleepless night might push me over the edge so a little after eleven I swallow a sleeping pill and say a small prayer. By midnight I've counted the same sheep a hundred times over. I've tried to clear my mind of the swirling, angry thoughts. I've tried to force my body to relax and let go, to give in to the exhaustion. By one, I'm sensing a repeat of last night - not quite four hours sleep and not together - by two, I'm in tears of sheer frustration and by three, I push the covers aside and give up.
The house is cold. I slip into long underwear, jeans and a sweatshirt and curl up on the couch under a blanket.
After several minutes I get back up to put the space heater and the tv on then prop myself up against a pillow. I'm tired beyond words, angry, and just flat out miserable. And in some of the ugliest, most prolonged, weather I've ever seen, it's still raining. Being up is almost as bad as being in bed - I can't get comfortable or warm - I'm short tempered with the animals when they want to share my space, I toss, turn, twist. With the blanket over me I can feel the cold sweat on the back of my neck. Without it, I'm cold down to my bones.
Seven o'clock eventually comes. Outside the rain is still coming down hard and steady and mercilessly. I feed the animals, make up the bed, change litter boxes. I've lost track of the rain days but I'd be willing to guess it's somewhere around 17 or 18 of the last 22. I do remember two days last week when it was in the 70's and the sun was actually out. I remember feeling better.
I've never felt emotionally affected by weather before, never so fiercely hated the rain or treasured the sun.
Just looking out the window is dismal as hell. On the rare occasions that I've forced myself out from behind the walls of this little house, I've seen and heard the same thing from friends. We are depressed, worn down,
sick, weary. The smallest thing makes us flare up. And still the rains come, day after day after dark day.
I lean back and close my eyes. The central heat chuffs along and the space heater hums softly. Rain pounds on the roof, the deck, the driveway. I can hear it running in the gutters and washing over the saturated dead ground. There's no let up.
On Sunday, I say to hell with it, run the thermostat up to 80, light the fireplace and put on both space heaters.
By late afternoon I'm in several layers, under a blanket, and catnapping. At midnight, I turn down the heat and shut everything off except the bedroom heater, crawl into bed and sleep if not like a stone, at least like a good sized pebble. It's just coming on light when I wake and by seven, the sun is actually shining and the house is tolerably comfortable. I have no idea what's changed except for the weather and I almost don't care.
After a few days of sunshine I begin to feel my spirits lift despite the still chilly nights and mornings. I still can't shake the urge to stay in at night and on weekends, can't manage to revive any interest in taking pictures or listening to music. It worries me but only distantly - it would take a cartload of bricks to break through my denial system - but finally after a long conversation with a friend, I listen to myself and the following day I drag myself to the doctor and pour it all out, the cold, the depression, the loss of interest, the insomnia, the night sweats and even what scares me the most to admit, the unexplained weight loss, 40 pounds in a year and a half.
He listens, asks questions, takes notes, examines me and orders tests. Everything comes back normal and I'm torn between being relieved and annoyed. I ask to go back on antidepressants and he agrees. We decide to give the medication a little time and then reevaluate, he gives me a fierce hug and sends me on my way.
That night I lie in bed listening to the steady ticking of the small alarm clock, the quiet breathing of the dogs,
a truck gearing up on the interstate. My mind churns and tumbles like a blender, practically cremating my thoughts until they all run together. Sleep isn't even in the neighborhood and in time I stop waiting for it, getting up and trudging into the sun room and onto the love seat, catnapping to an old Montgomery Clift movie and thinking about time and age and the uncertain future.
The older I get, the longer the nights seem to be.
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