a Scarlet D

I wrote down something my therapist said once.  “Better sleep than death.” I’m pretty sure it was about my not being able to get out of bed all weekend. That’s pretty much every weekend now. And a lot of days after program, when I get home and I’m completely washed out I’ll just go to bed for a few hours. Sometimes I’ll nap. Today I made myself stay out of bed for 2 hours after I got home so I could go out and get fast food for dinner and it wouldn’t be too early. Of course once I finished that I went to bed for a bunch of hours. Only to get up and consume media of questionable mental help for more hours.

I fully understand that sleeping too much or napping really screws up my regular sleep. So tonight I’ll probably get 3 hours sleep if I’m lucky, which sucks because tomorrow is one of my extremely long days. Five different types of therapies. Sometimes I wonder not just why I do all of them but what I do so many of them. Just following orders.

I think part of my willfulness, my bad sleep habits tonight are because I’m thinking a lot about how things have changed in the last 2 weeks. I know I dwell on anniversaries and time distances and I shouldn’t. I’m still just kind of reeling and lost and scared and isolated. I have so much less confidence that I know what I’m doing or what’s going on. I’ve had years of this depression and in some ways it was just fine. But it feels like I’ve broken something in me and I have less than a month to go back to work. Which in and of itself seems like an act of self-harm.  I have other pretty big things going on in my personal life too and I’m trying so hard to keep my problems self-contained. Which doesn’t help the isolation problem.

My therapies have been getting harder. My acute series of ketamine treatments on top of the TMS series is a bit like a one two punch. They’re followed by the day program, where I get the very best quality group interactions, but they can be really hard to share and to hear feedback on. Follow that up with my personal therapy and all of the crap my therapist stirs up in the name of sorting my head out, I’m just completely wrung out when I get home. So I crawl into bed.

Now scroll back up to the top of this post and read it again and just keep repeating that cycle. That’s my life.