Today is probably the most important day I’ve had in quite a while. Today, my words way heavy. They mean help or they mean pain. In communicating my needs, I’m not very good. I’m afraid I’ll come off as manipulating or desperate. Which I am neither of those, only been falsely accused of them.
Last night, I slept on my sofa from 8pm to 10pm. I moved to my bed. In which I didn’t sleep at all. I laid there, decided to check the time. It was 2am. I turned over, unable to fall asleep. The next thing I knew, my alarm clock was going off at 6am. I tried to sleep but got up at 8am. I’m miserable.
I have to be as honest as I ever have been with my psychiatrist today. I need to open up, I need her to hear me. I can’t keep living life in this way. Antidepressants don’t work, antipsychotics haven’t helped for longer than a week. I don’t know how to keep moving forward like this. I can barely eat. I can barely sleep.
I’ve never truly struggled with insomnia. Sure, there have been nights I kept myself awake due to anxiety. But it was on purpose, I always fell asleep at some point. This, this is just torture. Not being able to sleep, having my one damn escape taken from me, where do I turn?
I refuse to take sleep aids. I’m not going to do it. I don’t care how much they claim to help, I don’t want to end up in that state. I’ve seen what they do to people, I refuse to let myself become that. Just an empty shell of a person. No, I will do anything to keep myself from that life.
Today, two things are on my mind. What do I do about my antipsychotic? And, may I please have my medical card?
Between the lack of appetite, the lack of sleep, the PTSD flashbacks, the anxiety, the attacks, the depression, I’m beginning to wonder if anything will help. I need something to help.