All I want to do is sleep.

I seem to be writing a lot about sleep. I seem to need to sleep at the moment. Even though we have gone away for a break to the beach, all I seem to want to do is sleep. Sleeping in the morning. At night. Falling asleep while watching television, the ocean, the dog, the baby. I think that I even fell asleep yesterday afternoon in the blue armchair whilst listening to the ocean waves in the distance.

I think waves have that effect, lulling us into a false sense of relaxation and then- boom- you’re asleep.

I find it difficult to get out of bed. I thought this morning that it could be the humidity, or maybe I am still catching up on the hours of sleep that I was denied when I was in the mania, the endless hours watching out for Master X, not being able to shut down, constantly alert, on guard, on edge. The edge. Of despair, of the cliff that was my life.

But now I just feel tired. It is more of a drained feeling, feeling heavy, like the air is too thick. I push myself to do things like go to the beach, but when I try to eat food, it is endless. The empty feeling in my stomach like I just need to gorge, even though that I know gorging will not really fill the emptiness.

I did not want to write today.

I did not want to admit that there was still a problem.

That I am still a problem.

The surprising thing is that I do not feel depressed, sad, upset, negative. I just don’t feel much at all. Just drained and dragging. But I am sitting here, outside in the annex, writing about how things are going (or not going as is the case), so that is a good move. It is surely better than lying in bed under the duvet, drawing the covers over my head so that I can block out the sun to sleep.

And allowing the numb to encompass, surround and draw me in.

Sleeping is like breathing
Automatic, systematic
Cleaning out all the webs
Hiding me amongst the beds.

And as I look to see the waves
Hear the sounds of life around
But there is no feeling, no seeing, no freedom
There is only here and now, the breath, the sleep
The fire pit I stand upon, the stoop on which I keep.

And so I will continue to push through.

 


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