If This Is Torture


For some unknown reason, people in my family don’t seem to understand that, like them, I need to sleep sometimes. Even though I’m always tired, it takes forever to get my brain to finally shut off enough that I can fall asleep. When I do fall asleep, it doesn’t take much to wake me back up. And once that happens, I have to start the whole process over again. And it seems to compound with every single time that it happens. Sometimes I can deal with it, with a little grumpiness, but after a while, I start wanting to scream at every single person. Actually, screaming is the nicest thing I want to do to people when I’m really exhausted.

This morning, my mom did her usual “early morning dropping of Amy on me while I slept” and went into the kitchen. She hadn’t gotten Amy up during the night to let her go pee. She hadn’t given her long enough to do that this morning. Instead, she dropped Amy onto me and Amy decided that I looked like as good a place as any to pee. I don’t blame Amy for this. I blame myself (for not getting her up myself, in the middle of the night, to pee because I was awake) and I blame my mother. I as much as told my mom this. As I was shucking off my clothes and putting the urine-soaked blanket and clothes in the washer, I told her that I didn’t appreciate only getting two hours of sleep. She told me that I could just go back to sleep once I changed clothes. I pointed out that it wasn’t that easy. I told her that assuming that I got back to sleep, it was going to take at least an hour for that to happen, then my dad would be up in another two hours and he would be making so much noise that I would wake up, then I would just feel even worse.

I did get back to sleep, but it was more like an hour and half later that that happened. Then, I kept waking up every hour to various little house-related and neighborhood-related noises. Finally, my father got up and Amy had to jump on me again to get to him, instead of walking over to his chair–where I’ve asked him to have her greet him. After he decided to get on his computer, Amy decided to wake me up by licking my face, jumping on me, and scratching at my mouth until it opened enough for her to start licking my teeth and the inside of my lip. (I wish I could stop that behavior, but everything I’ve tried for that doesn’t work. If she does it long enough, my teeth and lip start to hurt, and sometimes my lip will bleed.) Anyway, after she had finally woken me up, my dad comes back around and says he’ll watch her and that I should just go back to sleep, but I’m not even going to bother. It’s just a matter of time before someone does something and I’m back awake and bitchier than ever.

It would be nice if my room had ever been finished from the events of last year. It got painted, but the blinds never went up, I never got sheets for my bed, and my new pillows were given to my father the first night we were even allowed to stay in the house. The only thing, other than the painting and the cleaning out, that got done in there is that I have a working air conditioner and a working ceiling fan. Everything else–everything I somehow expected to happen, but shouldn’t have because it’s my room after all and anything of mine never gets completed–has been left to get done at some point.  If I wasn’t afraid of falling through and breaking the rest of my bedroom window, I would put the blinds up myself, but I can’t go get sheets or pillows and anytime I want to ask, I get to hear about how we need to get something else–usually something that my mom wants, but doesn’t actually need. And if I point that out to her–even if I leave out the snarky part about her, I will get to hear her tell me how she didn’t realize I was upset with her (though I’ve told her many times), that I need more therapy, that I have issues, etc. Yes, I have issues and I need more therapy, but I also need to feel like things I say or do or need matter. I need to feel like a person instead of some random thing that no one gives a shit about.


About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.