Crash Into Me

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I went to bed before 10pm, woke up around 3am and could have gotten up for the day.

But I didn’t.

And that’s often a recipe for disaster.

When I sleep too much I crash and lately I’ve done really good with keeping my sleep around that 5-6 hour mark to prevent that from happening.  But I knew that 10pm was too early for bed (I was bored) and I knew that 3am was too early to get up (I would have gotten bored again) so I went back to sleep.

And when I woke up a few hours later I rolled over and went back to sleep.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And 14 hours after I first got into bed, I finally got up, grumbling because I didn’t want to deal with the list of things I had to do as soon as my feet hit the floor.  I didn’t want to put on clothes.  I didn’t really want to be dealing with the two flights of steps to our front door to let the dog out.  I didn’t want to stand with the cold air hitting me while she sniffed every single square inch of our yard.  I didn’t want to deal with the two flights of stairs back up to our apartment.  I didn’t want to deal with making the dog food just right so she wouldn’t turn up her nose at her food.

I told her repeatedly, in a very loving voice, that I didn’t like her this morning, and she should go find a home that did.

Of course she just heard the tone of my voice and loved all of the attention, and her hopping like a bunny around the kitchen made my mood a slight bit better.  For at least a second or two.

After she ate I curled up on the sofa for the worst show I can watch when I’m down, Law and Order: SVU.  I only watch this show when I’m depressed.  It’s the most triggering, horrible show for me.  It’s like self inflicted punishment and I’m immediately drawn to it when I can’t figure out what else to watch during my self pity moments.  I watched 2 and a half episodes curled up under a blanket and then went back to the bedroom to sleep some more.

I think I got another two hours.  In between dozing, thoughts of suicide floated in and out quietly, just barely rubbing up the edge of my consciousness.  Nothing crossing into dangerous territory, but just enough to let me know they are still around and don’t plan on going anywhere.

And then my phone went off, “Are we going to the gym?”

Fuck.  I guess it’s time to crawl out of my cocoon of misery and try to do something about this mood.  Maybe I still have a chance to make something of the rest of today.

“Yeah, let me get dressed.”

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