Give Out

My middle name is Sunshine. That’s what my parents decided, and it’s funny after a few drinks. It doesn’t quite match my temperament; that is part of the joke. i can’t say that it hasn’t always, but once i started learning that i could say no to things, my insistence on that word (that word that no one thinks she wants to hear) shortened my candidacy for beacon of light-hood.

In a further flattening of affect, a couple of years ago i was diagnosed with narcolepsy, a central nervous system disorder that produces the sudden, uncontrollable onset of sleep. There is no explanation for why people “get” it, although it seems to have something to do with heredity and something to do with a shortage of a brain protein called hypocretin that may regulate when and how we sleep. Other symptoms include, “features of dreaming that occur while awake,” and cataplexy–attacks of muscle paralysis triggered by strong emotions. i exhibit both. This means that i have to constantly consider my behavior before and while doing almost everything. Getting in an argument while walking down the street is basically impossible–my knees buckle and my legs just give out. Telling a joke is hard. Giving someone a basic complement, if i really mean it, makes me tremble. Allowing myself to get frustrated when doing things like, say, waiting tables is also problematic. My hands start to shake, plates begin to clang, and i have to take a deep breath and stabilize myself on the edge of a table or the bar to keep from falling on diners.  i get sleepiest after i eat, which means that eating alone at a restaurant, sitting at the bar–one of my favorite things to do, can also be tricky. The subway is a crapshoot. In general, i have had to become less of a hothead, because when i try to lose my cool, my body doesn’t cooperate. For someone who had never been very interested in controlling herself, this has forced extensive modifications of my nature.

Claire Denis, Trouble Every Day, 2001

Research that produces articles with titles like, “Brain Protein Tied to Sleep and Feeding also Involved in Bodily Sensations,” suggests that hypocretin also sways how we eat and how we respond to pain. This study reports: “Perl and his colleagues were intrigued by the observation that hypocretin nerve fibers terminate in a spinal cord region involved in sensations about pain-causing events…It may be that a decrease of the protein ‘helps people sleep and minimizes attention to minor inputs. Conversely, an increase helps a person to continue to do an essential function like eating even when there are minor inputs from the peripheral nervous system, such as occurs when one sits on a rough edge,’ the neurophysiologist explained.”

A decrease could presumably result in someone who easily loses her appetite when she sits on rough edges? Someone who doesn’t mind rough edges? Someone who snuggles up to rough edges and prefers the floor to pillows? Or, as the Pavement song has it, “Nothing gets me off so completely, than when you put it down ten feet in the ground.  Call it response (to a) negative home.” i am interested in these sorts of explanations, but i am less interested in the “why?” of narcolepsy than i am in thinking about how it works for me. What is my body trying to get me out of, or back to?  In his essay “Queerness as Horizon,” Jose Esteban Munoz pulls a phrase from Ernst Bloch–“the no-longer-conscious,”–which he explains as, “…a term that attempts to enact a more precise understanding of the work that the past does, what can be understood as the performative force of the past.”  Lately, i’ve begun to wonder if these ‘features of dreaming that occur while awake’, coupled with muted responses to pain have something to do with my insistence on being stuck. There are things that i just enjoy not getting over. An over-played mixed-tape, mountains of books i have no proper place for, folders full of old writing assignments i received in college, a wine bottle i shared with someone to whom i am attached, rocks my son picks up for me on the street, daffodils, matchboxes, promises.

Forrest Bess, Untitled, 1967

i don’t completely mind the narrative for “stuck.” Somehow, it feels more honest. If we understand ‘performative force’ as the life-altering effect that can result from citations of the past–of stories and memories that actually do something to the present and breathe a modified life into our presumably dead histories, then the unconscious is much more than a tomb. What i like about my narcolepsy is that somehow it feels productive. Is the no-longer-conscious accesible through sleep? Is my nostalgia and desire for people and things that seem to be gone keeping me from waking life?  Am i a ruiner or a sociopath because i am lacking the brain protein that tells me when to quit, or when to stop dreaming? Do you see where i am going with this?

1 thought on “Give Out

Leave a reply to Sue Gauthier Cancel reply