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Friday, December 22, 2017

Death is Painful

Nobody warned me that my life would be hell.

I’m dying. Slowly and painfully. At least, that’s how it feels. I feel like screaming during the day, but the nights are worse.

Every illness, mental or physical, gets worse at night. Since I’m a trained physician, I’ll tell you why. Or maybe I’ll just muse with my own opinions since I know nothing about this. In my opinion, it’s because you’ve fought all day long, you’ve had to, and at night, you get tired of doing just that. You let your guard down and every bit of pain you’ve suppressed all day rushes in and you’re flooded with every emotion you’re capable of at the moment.

Yes, nights are hard. Tonight is particularly difficult. I took a Xanax to see if that would keep it at bay, but no luck. The absolute worst part of nights right now, for me, is that I sleep for MAYBE two hours a night. The rest of the night,  I lay in bed, listening to my clocks tick. Fun, eh?

I haven’t slept more than five hours in quite a while. I’m not tired during the day. One symptom of mania is a lack of need for sleep, so I’m completely awake. Now if only I had something to do... I’ve got two crochet projects I’m working on, I’ve rearranged my room, and I’ve cleaned up parts of the house. Nothing holds my interest for more than a few minutes. Like, right now, I’m watching a movie I’ve been dying to see. I have no idea what’s going on because my mind is elsewhere. 

Oh well. Two more weeks and I can start my new meds. I’ll just look forward to that for now.

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