One of the distinctly annoying things about my sleeping patterns in bi-polar land is the over abundance of dreams. It is as if I lead a very active other life all night long instead of actually resting. I don’t generally remember my dreams either, but only wake with the vaguest of recollections. So I don’t even have good stories to share from my overactive dream life. sheesh.
I slept 8 hours. Yet, I had the hardest time dragging myself from the bed’s embrace this morning. Plus sitting in the purgatory of a conference call I feel like I could easily doze off. ~yawn~ Some days there just isn’t enough coffee in the world.
Lots of sleep yesterday and an evening basically doing less than nothing with my beardy girl Peanut.
It’s weird as Peanut has been part of my life for 5+ years and it is only within the past couple days it has been revealed Peanut is female dragon! All this time I’d been led to believe by not only the girl I adopted Peanut from but also my Vet that she was a he. No wonder she always looks cranky being incorrectly gendered.
So my brain is still in a buzzing state of discontent but not as severe as yesterday. I still feel like I could sleep a month though. I really really really need to increase my activity level in hopes it will do something about this nagging exhaustion. Plus, it is a good distraction from my asshole brain.
I did not make it past 4 hours in the office. So I came home and slept 2 hours solid. I am still really groggy still but the sleep did help. Self care can feel so awkward, doing my best to not feel guilty about it.
Round about and back suffused with uncertainty of what to do with this now. Yet I am drawn back all for the need to write, to unleash the words from my head. I am not going to rehash the time, at least not now. Perhaps down the road I will feel the need. Right now I just want to express the sheer level of soul exhaustion I am experiencing today.
My success today was getting out of bed and making it into work. Now whether or not I make it the whole day is uncertain. I am wavering on the slippery edge of collapsing inside. Holding the pose so as not to let it show, but I am so tired. It is a weariness born of the struggle inside, the push and pull of saying, “I’m OK” even if it is a lie. Right now, it is a lie.
I am not in the place of ‘not OK’ where I feel like it’s acceptable to ask for help. Which as I write sounds as stupid (as it probably is). The main problem is it can’t really be helped. Asking for what is not possible is really an exercise in futility that will only end in me feeling worse. Wanting comfort without pity or reactions tainted by unnecessary worry is an aggravating desire. It makes me feel weak and pathetic. Nothing seems worse right now than being perceived as needy.
So really this is just mental vomit.