This won’t be a cleverly named blog entry about conspiracy theories or politics or anything like that. Not that kind of “woke” No. It is quite literal – waking up is HARD. 😦
Lately I have noticed that when I wake up – especially in a manner that is unpleasant – I have bolts of pain shoot through my head.
I do not make a habit of giving strange mens from the internet my phone number – I have only done it twice. There is a third guy who has been bugging me for it but I don’t trust him – he has an article about himself on Encyclopedia Dramatica, ffs! – and worse than that he has spent time in prison for a violent crime of passion. I understand why he did it, I don’t condone it – he went after the dude that fucked his wife. The stabbed dude survived the assault and Mr. Stabby served his time – but still – yeah – not a guy who is liable to get my number. He only knows me through my sock account online, not my real one, so I’m not worried about him.
One guy who did get my number is completely sexually disinterested, (which is good) and he calls me to wail about MCS stuff – because I get it. You might read about it & think that you get it, but unless you have it, you don’t get it. I have it so I get it, and he gets that.
The other guy – the one that a very jealous and mildly deranged Mr. Encyclopedia Dramatica calls my “Necronomicon Grandpa Canadian Boyfriend” 😆 (oh my!) is totally interested in me and he has these wild ideas that we should be together somehow, some way, someday, (even though we currently reside in different countries) so that’s interesting.
He even continues to like me after I insisted to him that I am a fat and busted-faced monster, which makes me wonder, what is his angle? If he gets a hold of me is he gonna stick me in a desolate shipping container and torture me? Or maybe sell me into human trafficking? Or – unlikely in my particular version of reality – could he actually be a nice guy who is interested in me for my glorious mind?
Riiight… I’m too jaded to buy that. I did give him my real name and number though and we have been talking on the phone for a month or so.
I asked him to hit me up on Facebook messenger and make sure that it’s ok to call before he calls because my sleep pattern is wildly erratic, and also because unexpected phone calls, like unexpected knocks on my door, give me anxiety attacks. Also because my sleep pattern is the only “rock-n-roll” thing about my life – it is wildly erratic. I might be asleep or awake at any point around the clock. It varies wildly all of the time. This dude got lax and called me when I was asleep the other night – sans having acquired my approval of the call on Facebook (grrr!) – and as I rose into wakefulness while the phone rang, I was aware of waves of pulsing pain through my head. I figured “fuck that” and I didn’t answer it – I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Now tonight I’ve been torqued out of shape for a couple of hours – only now am I finally calming down a little bit from it. I fell asleep reading my library book and my grandmother knows that I did not want to miss Preacher so she woke me up about 20 minutes before it was going to come on. I always need to have time to “be shocked” – I actually use those words often in pertinence to my waking-up process, and I have for years – because it’s how I feel when I wake up! – and also to pee and to get coffee before the show starts. This time, instead of recovering from the initial shock of waking, and then getting up to pee and get coffee, I inadvertently dozed back off. A few minutes after the show started my grandmother came back in screeching “(name redacted)! Wake up! Your Preacher show is on, you’re missing it!”
I’m glad she woke me up – but it was the way that she woke me up – the sudden screech cutting through my dozing skull – not at all delicate! – it threw me into some sort of an adrenaline-laced shock. I flew straight up out of the bed, deeply shocked; and no fucking joke, my heart and chest all the way up to my damned neck hurt for roughly an hour after that.
I watched Preacher but I couldn’t tell you wtf happened, I was too busy dealing with that shaky, nauseating, weak-gut after-effect of an adrenaline jolt, as well as worrying about the actual pain of shock crawling up my chest! My fucking chest hurt for over an hour over that shit!
Of course when I complained to her of it, I was being a bitch. Of course I was. I told her – “you know very well that I have often referred to my wake-up time in such a way that I say that I need time to ‘be shocked'”. I do! I almost always have that dismayed, shocked, sinking feeling if I am woken up. I usually manage to avoid it if I wake naturally but if something wakes me up – especially abrasively – I have to suffer anywhere from ten seconds to 10 minutes of shock and dismay before I can function. Weird, maybe but whatever, I don’t care, it’s just how I am. Being me sucks.
Part of it is probably waking up to the fact that I am still me. 😦
Anyway having somebody wake you up with an actual piercing screech does not help that process. It does, in fact, hider it considerably, what with the addition of an anxiety attack and subsequent chest pains.
The fucking ringing phone is bad but an abrasive screech is way worse.
Maybe being in that weird Twilight Zone between wakefulness and sleep amplified the shock as well. I don’t know. I just know that it literally fucking hurt my chest.
I was trying to ask her to wake me up in the future by speaking gently and normally – no slamming in and screeching even if I AM missing a show! I’d rather miss a few minutes of the show – or fuck, even the whole show! – than put up with another episode of that chest-tightening, painful, anxiety-riddled post-adrenaline shock. It was horrible.
Of course for asking this of her, I am an asshole; and in the future as far as she is concerned I can just sleep through my damn shows if I accidentally fall asleep with my book before they come on. There are not enough outlets in this shit-joke of a so-called bedroom for an alarm clock so I’ll have to resort to using the online alarm clock, which is also very abrasive. Or miss my shows.