Last night was different…

Sometimes I'm prone to pacing when I'm not sure what I should be doing or don't know what kind of mood I'm in. Last night was different in that I paced for hours – figure-eights in my living room…. over and over and over. I've never paced for an extended time like that. In addition, my frame of mind was different than the other times I've paced…. I felt like if I kept pacing, I could keep my mind blank. Just stop thinking, and it was good in a vague no-longer-caring sort of way. Like a letting go. I'm wondering if pacing is becoming some sort of comfort mechanism. A thought would cross my mind, but then it'd promptly vanish. I didn't feel tired or anything with all the pacing – just mentally blank. The cat sat down in my way and I just stopped and stared at him, continuing my figure-eights when he finally moved. For some reason I felt the need to hold my arms close, like I was crunching in on myself, but I couldn't untangle my arms for anything. I remember a couple thoughts would pop up – for some reason I was kind of fixated on the fact that I have orange juice, but I couldn't go get it because I'd have to "unstick" my arms. That's not a normal sort of word for me, but that was the one that was "right". I finally stopped after a couple hours and fell asleep on the couch for a little while before going to bed. Idunno what the hell all that was about. I keep seeking treatment for crap like that because obviously I'm not right, but haven't had any luck yet, and just keep getting dicked around.

Another thought that I recall having while I was making my figure-eights when the brain came back online again is that if I'm truly mentally ill, letting go and letting myself ride the crazy train has a certain appeal to it. I could just pace the hallways in a safe environment while Nurse Ratchett feeds me my medications, and if I were tuned out then like I was while I was pacing last night, honestly the idea doesn't seem all that bad.