“I hate me,” I sputtered through melting tears to Samuel after an especially hard day.
“Give yourself a break,” Samuel said.
Depression and sleepless nights fight with springs promise of possibilities, the most luscious an improved mood casting darkness away. A brain broken by PTSD at age 8 and very sensitive to hours of daylight is no fun. After several weeks of blaming myself for not sleeping the toll makes me sappily sorry for myself.
Knowing how much I have, how happy I ‘should’ be, how hard it is right now doesn’t add to my grateful list. My chaotic mind just won’t calm down. Was it this hard last spring?
Playing with the dosage of pot oil during this tumultuous time does not help. But that’s me, fucking up the works because my brain is so out of whack. So many times this happens; not reading something thoroughly missing an important word or sentence, making everything harder.
Others are so calm, like Samuel, methodical, slower in moving and talking, (which incites me violently, GET TO THE POINT). But not me. The weirdness of how I am in my insides to how others seem on the outside is hard to accept when the going gets hard.
Oh for the days of calm. Are you coming? Those long stretches of sleep. Sleep. A necessity that isn’t a sure thing for me. Sleep, which of course includes a calm brain, a calm life, and calmer emotions. And with it less kicking of my own behind.