sleepless at home November 2012

sleepless at home November 2012

In November of 2012, I just knew I was feeling strange.  I could not sleep after November 10.  It was an odd reality for someone who spent previous years lethargic and sleeping at least 9 hours a day and needing a nap.  So, I sat in my bedroom with a restless, strange mind.  I thought meditation could calm my mind and rest my body.  I did not understand not sleeping and what it would become.  From restlessness, my mind turned to overly active and playful:  delirium?  My imagination took over where dreams would exist.  Unfortunately, an active imagination cannot change the reality of memory. 

We have all heard of "your life flashes before you eyes," but how we view this has been informed by loads of television programs and movies.  My mind did the time-warp, and it was an odd and fascinating experience which I hope will never be repeated.  I fell back through my timeline with every memory unlocked moving towards my birth.  Everything was super-realistic, as I sat on the bedroom floor where I had crumpled from exhausting myself in a hyper-dance.  Just as quickly as I fell back, I then fell forward with a rush to my head:  vvroop.  I was back in the present mind, confused and strange.  I tried calling this period near the end of November 2012 my "near enlightenment," partly because my mind and body were running and working faster than ever linking words and topics and data stored . . . Others call it my nervous breakdown.  I don't know.  I wish I could still access those notes from Biology, Trigonometry, European History, or English Literature where I scrawled in the margins. Between the energetic awakening, there were lulls where I felt lost in my bedroom suite.  I misplaced a brush, a piece of chocolate; time was incongruent.  This disturbed me immensely.

Missing time.  Missing mind.  Missing things.  Missing thoughts.

I try to write to a topic because there were so many layers to this experience, most of which were unusual for me.  I could note them.  I could put them into memory, but I could not figure out what had gone wrong with me or what had gone wrong with the world.

. . . . to have a pensieve like Professor Dumbledore