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No rest for the weary?
Middle of the night musings while restless, but exhausted and expressing gratitude for the small things bringing me joy.
From the Notes app:
It is currently 3:51 a.m., which is not an unusual time for me to be up.
I am currently anxious and restless. My heart is beating fast and I am wide awake.
I want to go for a walk. Late-night walks, especially on my baby-free nights are not uncommon for me. They’ve been a coping mechanism for years even when I lived in the city and it was a bit more dangerous to do.
And now I’m crying as I write this because I know I’ll try to nap later and won’t be able to fall asleep and I’m just so tired of having to struggle so much to stay here when it doesn’t feel worth it.
It’s currently 4:23 a.m. and I took a break to go grab my emotional support cardigan, put on some sweatpants, roll a J, and walk up and down the sidewalk directly outside my patio. That way, I could feel like I took a walk but could still hear Ava if she woke up.
An SUV just pulled into the 24-hour 7/11 on the other side of the sidewalk. The driver is just sitting there, their car lights seemingly shining a spotlight on my madness. I probably looked crazy. Disheveled dirty sweats, ragged oversized cardigan. Walking back and forth, smoking a J, talking to myself, and crying. Trying as hard as I can to clear my mind so I can go back to sleep before Ava wakes again. Or before it’s time to get her day started.
The day before yesterday, I went to bed at 11:00 pm, Ava woke me up every hour, just about, and at 3:49 a.m. my body just said “fuck it” and refused to go back to sleep. The sun rose, my alarm went off, I packed Ava’s lunch, made her a quick breakfast, and got her up as she whinedly fought me. I got her dressed and into traffic to get to daycare we went. I tried to nap when I got back but that didn’t work. I filled out job applications. I binge-watched a show. And I cried, of course. A whole lot. And wrote a bit too. I do the most writing in the throes of depression. I guess it’s a muse of sorts?
I’m probably not getting back to sleep anytime soon.
I’m glad that I’m fasting because I would have probably started to binge otherwise.
The only time I get good sleep consistently is while medicated or smoking. My stubborn toddler still does not sleep through the night and finds herself in my bed often, refusing to go back to sleep unless she’s there. And since I am a light sleeper, I’m unable to ignore her kicks and moves so I retreat to the couch.
It seems cruel that sleep disturbance is a major symptom of bipolar disorder but also makes it worse. I had one of the “good” kinds of hypomanic episodes last week that I knew would surely send me into a low crash because I can’t tell you how many hours of sleep I got, but I know it was less than four hours each night.
I really hope that I can hold on to my microscopic drop of sanity until I’m able to obtain efficient and consistent medical healthcare again.
Things that have brought me joy lately:
Each night I turn on my sunset lamp, shine it on my bookcase, and then turn on my colored floor lamps facing the wall. Lately, the combination of oranges and purples has been so soothing for me and invites a calming vibe to the living room.
First Wives Club
I love the movie, it’s one of my favorites. And I love Jill Scott. So I started watching the show. And it’s actually pleasantly surprising. Of course, it has its things with some of the acting and plotlines, but overall it is a good show. I hope it comes back because I’m almost done with the third season, but there’s no word on renewal or cancellation yet. Also, in this last season, one of the main characters is clearly pregnant in real life and they’re distractingly hiding it in the show and I’m annoyed.
I have been consistently bathing with Dr. Teal’s entire bath line. The oils, Epsom salt, bubble bath, and exfoliating scrub. It’s cathartic. And on days when I know it’s been too long since my body has been hit with soap and water, it’s a low-effort way to cleanse myself and rinse off.
A new pen.
I went to pick up my car today and the pen the lady had me signing things with wrote so well. I was like “Wait, can I take a picture of that because I’m obsessed with pens and I want this!” She was like “Sure, that’s my last black one else I’d let you have one, but I have this brand new blue one if you’d like it!” I almost cried. That was so nice. I know how I am about my nice pens so I appreciated her just giving it to me, especially a fresh one.
“I got this.”
Ava has started saying this to herself whenever she’s attempting a challenging task. I first heard her saying it while going up the large winding staircase at one of our local libraries and just yesterday she said it as she was lifting a heavy toy. I feel like I just had her so to watch her growth and development at seemingly rapid speed is bittersweet sometimes.
“You’re fighting with your words.”
I shared Dear Yohanes,… with my monthly writing group this past weekend and also shared how much I’ve been wrestling with suicidal ideations. Because my writing usually mirrors my mood, it has been more dark and depressing and I shared my reservations about sharing some of those thoughts because of what doing so could lead to. Some well-meaning and concerned person could call for a wellness check that endangers me, a prospective job opportunity may be lost if an organization digs far enough into my digital footprint, or someone could question my ability to adequately parent right now. But, each time I share a piece like this, especially with this group, I am reminded that these are words people want and need to hear. Amongst some of the praise for my piece was “We see you, you’re fighting with your words.” And I surely had a good cry about that later. I am fighting so hard and I know that there are people who are fighting too, alone, and they need to know that they are not.