End Of My Rope (Again)
So, assuming I've done it right, the image above sums up how I'm doing of late. And, if I'm honest, it's not what you'd call "great" or anything in that general area.
Tonight's insomnia is less insomnia, more my M.E being its usual wanky self. The last couple of days have been slightly more active than usual, and because I took extra spoons out of my week, I am now suffering. I am exhausted. Full-on, completely and utterly exhausted. I've even swapped from my tablet to my phone to write this post, as the tablet is too heavy.
I just want to sleep. That's not a big ask. But I am in more pain than usual tonight, thanks to the aforementioned busy days. My legs and back are pulsing in time to my heart beat. My shoulders ache. My hands feel like they're two sizes too big. And I'm fluctuating from "brrr chilly!" to "holy f$ck heat!" which is great fun too.
All this is taking its toll on happy old Dan. I know I'm moody and grumpy and short tempered and tearful and miserable... And the hardest part is trying to get people to understand and to realise that I am struggling as much as I am. "Oh Dan hasn't been in contact, and when he is all he does is moan" No, I haven't, but that's because I can't focus on any one thing. I can wake up and think about all the simple things I need to do, but by the time I've struggled into clothing, made my way down five stairs, and performed the miraculous tasks of Making Coffee and Poppy's Breakfast, I am tired. Anything past that is little more than pushing myself...
And then I end up here again. Laying in bed at 3am feeling crap, listening to Kellie snore, Poppy fidget, and the cats marauding around the house. Five o clock rolls around, and I flake out, only to have to be up again within a couple of hours.
I've tried a routine of being awake in the night and doing stuff - reading, watching TV, listening to music, playing a game - instead of trying to sleep, but all that achieved was me being more awake for longer. Object defeated.
I know I need to get back to my GP. I know I need my med dosages - all my meds - increased. And I try to stay positive that "these are the ones that will help" but know in the back of my mind, I'll have a few months of them taking the edge off, until my body decides they're crap, and to metabolise them quicker than they can help me.
3am is quiet. Mostly. Aside from the snoring/fidgeting/marauding. I hear the occasional but of traffic. Oddly, I just hear a load of seagulls bitching somewhere about something. Occasionally I'll hear a fox screaming somewhere, or cats rowing over territory. But 3am is mostly just quiet. Which you would think is nice. But my brain doesn't like the quiet. If it's not showing my streams of random flashcards (I don't know if I've explained that before...), it'll be going over everything it thinks I need to think about. Conversations I've had. Situations people are dealing with. Arguments and how I should have responded. Conversations in the future. Plus I random check the doors are locked because, hell, why not have some random paranoia too.
And so, I lay here, wanting nothing more than to sleep, but knowing full well the pain, the miserable mood, the anxiety - all these little things conspiring to prevent me from sleeping..
I know I'm getting worse as time goes by. That's not new information. But I wish I could get worse BUT manage the pain and mood better than I am. And to sleep. Again, it doesn't seem like an unreasonable request...
I know I've been radio silent for a while. I've not been on Facebook in over a year. I occasionally use Twitter. I sometimes post to Instagram. My poor blog is neglected. But despite this being my little corner of the web where I can prattle on about whatever I want, I feel like I'm just moaning and being very much "woe is me", knowing full well that some of you reading still believe there's sod-all wrong with me. That I'm being dramatic. Attention seeking.
If that were true, I'd like my Oscar now please.