Sing me to sleep

The last three/four weeks have been tough. Tougher than tough.

Financial troubles. Sigh.

Insomnia. Again.

Which, as usual, led to bouts of depression and a heightened sense of anxiety and self-doubt.  Which in turn led me to go back on a decision I'd made NOT to take the sleeping pills (the ones that inspired the name of the blog). That was a first. And a last.

They didn't agree with me one bit.

I slept better. Of course. But failed to notice my shortened fuse, frustration, anger, irritability, and so on.

I'd already been going through a challenging time with a relationship that had been (and still is) very very important to me.

But the weird combination of self-doubt/lack of self-worth, the insomnia, the effect of the sleepers and the extent to which I'd given up trying to take responsibility for myself and my actions eventually dealt what I fear has been a mortal blow to that relationship.

I handed the sleepers back to the doc a few days ago - "never again" I told him.  Not worth the collateral damage.

He & I had a discussion about the anti-depressants I'm taking.  I don't think he understood what I was saying about the need to feel in control of myself again being the reason I wanted a planned withdrawal.

Maybe in a couple of months, was his opinion.

I've actually been feeling more like "me" just recently, having stared long and hard at myself in a metaphorical mirror and realised owning up to being unpleasant is part of the process of regaining control and getting well.

But I'm struggling with the wounded-relationship.

The other person is extremely important to me.  It's not just that I'm in love and feeling heart-broken. I respect and admire them. I want them in my life. But it's hard balancing that with a sense of "please forgive me and come back, I swear I'll never hurt you."

Then, thanks to an upset stomach, I hardly slept last night and woke up in a bit of a mess, wishing someone would whisper some kind words to make me know everything is really ok.

I felt very sad and lonely.

I let it be known. That was a mistake.

To top it all, the postman came this morning and reminded me how poorly joined-up the medical profession is. I was with my doc only a few days ago. But this morning I got a letter from the hospital about some test results. They'd like me to call to make an appointment to go back in at my earliest convenience.

I had a small, fleeting panic.

I like getting letters in the mail. But I prefer my less-than-great news delivered face-to-face.

Call me old fashioned.

I think I chose the wrong time to quit smoking.