I am Sloth.
I am walking with three legs, though one barely moves, and one is metallic.
I dress in grey clothes unsuitable for public eyes.I soak in their warmth and lack of expectations.
I am lupie, as only other Lupies would understand.
I do not welcome Lupus, yet it insists on staying like the smelly squatter on the couch who just.will.NOT.go. No matter how many hints I leave.
I am sad, depressed, but not in the darkness of the past. Just dealing with a day that is best forgotten.
I am hormonal. This was not a good time for a monthly visitor to join the frequent flyer on the couch!
I am not myself. I am no one today. I am just… in limbo, waiting for less pain. Less, just less.
I have a high pain threshold after so many years, but today I am crying. It is too much. I am battle-weary.
I am dark chocolate with sea salt and red wine. It makes things more… bearable.
I have a long To-Do list, but my brain and body yell, “no!”
I am full of self-pity. I do not like to be. I think sometimes it is necessary.
I feel I am achieving nil. I feel disheartened. I write to remind myself of the year to date. The effort exhausts me.
I am reminiscing of a life before lupus. But do I remember? Did I have one at all?
I ask myself permission to stop. To do nothing, to rest. I readily agree. Today my brain offers no arguments.
I am not brave. I am a coward today. I fear. I cry. I question.
I dream of travelling again to faraway lands. I wonder if I ever will.
I lay. I do not sleep. I toss, I turn, I hug my iPad and its connection to The World.
I speak on the phone to a friend, but his words confuse me. My brain has no reception. Too much interference.
I am not writing the post I thought I would. Instead I am massaging my body with key strokes, quick, but gentle. Always gently.
I wait for my love to come home. To fill the house with light for I have none. But he is also tired.
I close today with hope that tomorrow brings more light. More, just more.
I’ve written before about being an insomniac. Insomni-maniac is probably closer to the truth. If there’s anyone out there not sleeping like crazy, it’s usually me.
There’s a number of reasons:
- My autoimmune conditions can have insomnia as a bonus
- Most of my medications for aforementioned conditions come with built-in insomnia
- I’ve had depression on and off for a lot of my life, but have had a very bad episode for the last fifteen months: depression causes insomnia
- I keep replaying events and conversations in my head at bed time which one day I’m just going to have to finally deal with
- And finally, that Type A, achievement-driven, million ideas per second, perfectionist personality of mine that I’m trying to control. It likes to spend bedtime planning, evaluating, regrouping, debriefing.
So all in all, sleep is like an exotic destination I dream of visiting one day, and no matter how much work I do to try to get there, I just don’t seem to mange it. Except at about 7 am. I can sleep through the days like a champion, but unfortunately society at large doesn’t really cater for people who function that way. And what makes it more frustrating is that Mr Raw could win gold in the Sleep Olympics – he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Or even beforehand.
As I found myself getting up to my usual crazy insomniac antics at 4am I decided to keep a list of them: Read the rest of this entry