I'm not sleeping well, if at all - and it's getting worse. It's not unusual at all to be awake all night - or to sleep a half hour or 45 minutes - total.
That kind of Tired skews my perspective on everything. EVERYTHING. It takes small problems and makes them huge. It takes large problems and makes them insurmountable. Decisions become impossible - and the few decisions I make - I question - then reverse - then decide again - and doubt.
Energy runs at a deficit. Every step becomes a push. Every appointment becomes a mountain.
I know, intellectually, what's happening - why I feel so out of control. It doesn't help.
I had an appointment with Woowoo today. I did that ugly screaming/crying thing the whole way to her office. (I only do that when I'm alone. I feel crazy when I cry like that.) Sometimes it's "cleansing". Sometimes it pushes me further down the rabbit hole. Today... it was the rabbit hole.
When I was leaving home for Woowoo's office, Michael and I discovered that the 12V outlet in the car for my oxygen machine was not working, therefore the machine would not charge. (something else to add to my unmanageable list of things that need to be repaired/fixed) I started to panic about being without oxygen, but Michael reminded me that I had an extra battery, so that's one thing I don't have to worry about today.
When I arrived at Woowoo's office I unloaded the scooter, and tried to use my remote "thing" to close the lift gate. It wouldn't work. Then I tried to close the side door (where the oxygen had been). It wouldn't close. I tried to lock the door - no luck. So I got off my scooter, carrying the oxygen machine and tried to lock the door from inside the car. Not happening. A man offered to hold the door into the building for me and so I left the car - unlocked - and headed for the door. The man took a step toward the car and looked at me like I was nuts (appropriate?) and informed me that my car was running. He offered to shut it off for me just as Woowoo came out to check on me. I told him that I would greatly appreciate it.
I wanted to run. They were both staring at me like I had a sign on my forehead that said "insane". I wanted to run - to get in the car and leave - and never go back - to run my car into something hard enough and fast enough that all of this would be over.
Instead I smiled, thanked the nice man - thanked Woowoo for coming to check on me - drove my scooter through the door - my head down, crying - defeated.
Woowoo and I talked about sleep - what happens. IF I can get to sleep (I dread going to sleep), I wake up again in 15 minutes - sometimes it's images of Greg's suffering over the past few years - sometimes it's images of how he died - images of him hanging - fighting for breath.
I try to talk to myself - tell myself it's over - he's at peace - but my heart is pounding - I'm crying - and there's no chance of going back to sleep. It's gotten to the point that I dread going to bed. I don't want to fall asleep - don't want to let the images in - don't want to feel that crushing pain, like my heart is in a vice.
Woowoo says it's PTSD. I went to see my family doctor after seeing Woowoo. I haven't seen him since Greg died, so I told him in the shortest version that I could manage. He says it's PTSD. I don't want to have PTSD.
After screaming/crying on my way to see Woowoo - having a semi mental collapse in the parking lot - crying my way through an hour in Woowoo's office - and then going through the short version of Greg's death (which still included him hanging himself) with Dr. K. - and the physical and emotional consequences of that on my life, I was so emotionally spent that I wanted to curl up in a ball in the back seat of my van and cry until there was nothing left.
Instead ('instead' is a part of my life that I'm learning to hate), Michael loaded the scooter (thankfully). I picked him up on my way between doctors), situated the oxygen machine, and we left.
We were both hungry. Michael asked if I felt like going to a restaurant. When life is manageable, I just tell the truth - "No, I really don't". But when things are bad? I don't know how I feel. I don't know how to answer. I should have known. I should have known this was not the day to push myself more. I did not.
I agreed to go to the restaurant - then at the restaurant, I changed my mind and suggested sandwiches to take home. At the sandwich place, as Michael was getting out or the car to order a couple of sandwiches, I changed my mind again and wanted to go home - just go home. I was sobbing - and lost.
By this time, Michael's frustration was apparent. I don't know how he tolerates me. He got the sandwiches (in spite of my indecision) while I waited in the car - and then we went home.
I need to get my will in order. I am beyond useless.
That kind of Tired skews my perspective on everything. EVERYTHING. It takes small problems and makes them huge. It takes large problems and makes them insurmountable. Decisions become impossible - and the few decisions I make - I question - then reverse - then decide again - and doubt.
Energy runs at a deficit. Every step becomes a push. Every appointment becomes a mountain.
I know, intellectually, what's happening - why I feel so out of control. It doesn't help.
I had an appointment with Woowoo today. I did that ugly screaming/crying thing the whole way to her office. (I only do that when I'm alone. I feel crazy when I cry like that.) Sometimes it's "cleansing". Sometimes it pushes me further down the rabbit hole. Today... it was the rabbit hole.
When I was leaving home for Woowoo's office, Michael and I discovered that the 12V outlet in the car for my oxygen machine was not working, therefore the machine would not charge. (something else to add to my unmanageable list of things that need to be repaired/fixed) I started to panic about being without oxygen, but Michael reminded me that I had an extra battery, so that's one thing I don't have to worry about today.
When I arrived at Woowoo's office I unloaded the scooter, and tried to use my remote "thing" to close the lift gate. It wouldn't work. Then I tried to close the side door (where the oxygen had been). It wouldn't close. I tried to lock the door - no luck. So I got off my scooter, carrying the oxygen machine and tried to lock the door from inside the car. Not happening. A man offered to hold the door into the building for me and so I left the car - unlocked - and headed for the door. The man took a step toward the car and looked at me like I was nuts (appropriate?) and informed me that my car was running. He offered to shut it off for me just as Woowoo came out to check on me. I told him that I would greatly appreciate it.
I wanted to run. They were both staring at me like I had a sign on my forehead that said "insane". I wanted to run - to get in the car and leave - and never go back - to run my car into something hard enough and fast enough that all of this would be over.
Instead I smiled, thanked the nice man - thanked Woowoo for coming to check on me - drove my scooter through the door - my head down, crying - defeated.
Woowoo and I talked about sleep - what happens. IF I can get to sleep (I dread going to sleep), I wake up again in 15 minutes - sometimes it's images of Greg's suffering over the past few years - sometimes it's images of how he died - images of him hanging - fighting for breath.
I try to talk to myself - tell myself it's over - he's at peace - but my heart is pounding - I'm crying - and there's no chance of going back to sleep. It's gotten to the point that I dread going to bed. I don't want to fall asleep - don't want to let the images in - don't want to feel that crushing pain, like my heart is in a vice.
Woowoo says it's PTSD. I went to see my family doctor after seeing Woowoo. I haven't seen him since Greg died, so I told him in the shortest version that I could manage. He says it's PTSD. I don't want to have PTSD.
After screaming/crying on my way to see Woowoo - having a semi mental collapse in the parking lot - crying my way through an hour in Woowoo's office - and then going through the short version of Greg's death (which still included him hanging himself) with Dr. K. - and the physical and emotional consequences of that on my life, I was so emotionally spent that I wanted to curl up in a ball in the back seat of my van and cry until there was nothing left.
Instead ('instead' is a part of my life that I'm learning to hate), Michael loaded the scooter (thankfully). I picked him up on my way between doctors), situated the oxygen machine, and we left.
We were both hungry. Michael asked if I felt like going to a restaurant. When life is manageable, I just tell the truth - "No, I really don't". But when things are bad? I don't know how I feel. I don't know how to answer. I should have known. I should have known this was not the day to push myself more. I did not.
I agreed to go to the restaurant - then at the restaurant, I changed my mind and suggested sandwiches to take home. At the sandwich place, as Michael was getting out or the car to order a couple of sandwiches, I changed my mind again and wanted to go home - just go home. I was sobbing - and lost.
By this time, Michael's frustration was apparent. I don't know how he tolerates me. He got the sandwiches (in spite of my indecision) while I waited in the car - and then we went home.
I need to get my will in order. I am beyond useless.
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