My work puts me to sleep. What does that mean? Do I secretly hate it in some part of my psyche? Do I secretly want out?
My work involves a lot of reading of technical, academic jargon filled documents. I read them; I write about them; I hopefully learn from them. Reading is pretty crucial to my work. I want to know the information contained within these documents and articles. I want to know their findings, no matter how thickly they are buried beneath ridiculously poor writing.
So why do I fall asleep? Why, Universe, why?
I can usually get about halfway through one, and then I start to lose my concentration. I have to reread certain paragraphs. I have to straighten out my back. I have to think about items. I have to check references. Slowly, the sleeping demons crawl on my skin. They mountaineer up my neck to my eyelids, hooking my chin so it droops with the weight of their invisible bodies, dangerously scaling my face to where they can nail my eyelids together. I imagine that they lose members of their climbing party when my head jolts upright and tries to regain consciousness. But they have a loyal, endless supply at the bottom of the mountain. It is a losing battle for me.
Other demons are shamans, chanting lullabies and channeling my brainwaves. Their avatars stalk my conscience, shooting it with tranquilizers. They kill all of my guilt monsters that tell me I need to stay awake. My responsibility drones do not seem to detect their presence. Down I go, fighting and fighting with my nodding head and closing eyes, until the shamans overcome my reason and whisper to my brain that I should just take a nap – really, it’s okay. It’ll be better if I just nap for twenty minutes, and then I can go back to work.
I push aside my computer and my books. I adjust my chair. I wrap a scarf into a pillow, and I lay my head upon my arms.
What do they do while I am sleeping? What do they want with my brain? Why must I sleep and why must I sleep for hours instead of the promised twenty minutes? How do they hold such control over my brain?
This is my daily battle for staying awake. It was worse when I took Seroquel; I didn’t fall asleep just at work, but in the middle of conversations, hobbies, and everything. With Seroquel I slept between 10 to 12 hours a day including naps. Now I’m down to 9-10. Why can’t it be 8? Why can’t it be 6? Why do the demons come for me? I want to work! I want to do things! I hate my dreams anyway!
I do wonder if the Citalopram is a demon worshipper. But I don’t see how it can be the only reason, especially as Buproprion is a demon hunter. I want my day back. I want to be awake.
Here ends my lament.