March 2022 – Born Sleep Deprived

Numbing

A long time being heavily medicated got me used to a narrow spectrum of emotions. I became accustomed to being numb. I didn’t have to feel much of anything. I never thought I would miss it. I’ve switched to a less heavy medication and I can suddenly feel my own feelings and reactions again. There’s an undercurrent of panic. I can’t discern between sadness and depression, or a clear head with mania. It’s like waking up with bruises sensitive to the touch. Any stimulation of intense emotion feels like a threat.

I have other medications that numb. Taking a little extra Ativan or Ketamine here and there could do the trick. Ketamine will grease the wheels socially and Ativan calms my nerves. It’s for the anxiety I have for no reason, so why not medicate the anxiety of real life. When I’ve lost my step in a relationship or made a mistake at work, what’s the harm in healing the discomfort with medicine. I’m prescribed to take it regularly anyway, so why not?

What is the danger here? Shouldn’t I be able to regulate my emotions at a level I’m comfortable with? Isn’t it my right to protect my emotional self? Where is the wrong in this?

I guess I’ll be separated from the people in the room with me. If I’m slightly suffocated all the time I’ll have a hard time connecting. But how am I missing out in that regard? Who will I eventually lose completely?

But what if do I take on all my sadness, disappointment, and rejection and just freaking feel it. Is that part of the spectrum so bad that I cut myself off from the better half? What about joy, satisfaction, and connection? And really, what are the bad things going to do to me? Totally wreck me and then kill me? It feels like that sometimes, but it never happens. I’m still here. I’m still connected.

I guess it’s not worth numbing if it severs those connections. I need living, growing, expanding relationships with my loved ones. People who feel like family, people who are family, and family who feel like friends.

When it comes down to it, to numb is to exist and existing isn’t living. I need to do more than just exist. I need to live.

Insomnia

My eyes are blurry, and my head is starting to sicken. I keep kicking my legs around hoping to relax. My mind is sometimes blank but mostly my thoughts won’t quiet down. They’re so loud. And so unproductive. A lot of ‘what ifs’ rolling around up there. Now I’m too hot. I need to kick the blankets off. Maybe if I get up and do something I’ll get tired. Nope. I can’t sleep but I’m too brain-dead to work on something. I just want to sleep, I’m so tired. How am I not asleep? How can I be this tired and unable to lose consciousness? Oh no. I can hear the birds starting to sing. We’re approaching the point of no return. Either this will be an all-nighter or I’m going to end up with a restless two hours before my alarm goes off. Why are those birds so loud? This is the worst part. I’m watching my alarm clock countdown until it goes off. I turn it off. I hate that sound. Just a few more minutes until I have to get up. My stomach is churning. I’ll just close my eyes until it’s time. I open my eyes. Oops, I finally fell asleep for twenty minutes. Now I’m running late and feel worse than if I’d stayed awake.

People who get enough sleep don’t understand people who don’t. Something becomes terribly wrong when you move beyond a few nights’ lost sleep into weeks and months. It does things to you. If you’re not sleeping, you’re not regenerating If you’re not sleeping, you’re not healing. If you’re not sleeping, you’re not ok.

Halfway

The depression checklist of self-care and medication becomes the to-do list from hell when added to a regular day’s workload. Fortunately, I was given some great advice once; “Anything worth doing, is worth doing half-way.” Sometimes when I’m too depressed to do anything, anything I do feels like an accomplishment.

Except for most of the time when it doesn’t. Even when it takes everything I have, doing things half-way makes me feel terrible. Even when self-care becomes an accomplishment with benefits, I just feel worn out anyway. In a way, I prefer nothing gets done so I don’t feel the pain of falling short.

I have a belief in my heart though. I believe it’s more than ok to give myself full credit for imperfect work. Caring about my health should include caring about how much self-compassion I feel.

Recently I made some major hygiene goals with my therapist to address so many things I’m terrible at. The other night it was time for my daily face wash, but I was lying in bed feeling overwhelmed, unsure if I could get up. Suddenly I realized that I could just dab my face with a wet towel and call it good, as it was something “worth doing halfway”. I was so proud of my work-around and gave myself full credit for imperfect work. It was a small high, but it was mine to enjoy for the rest of the night.