Waiting for the sun to rise, I have been for three hours already
Wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, my grandma’s old brown leather jacket, boots of the same color, my other grandma’s locket
(it matters because I’m comfortable and cozy, feeling cute and calm, and because I’m patiently awaiting the morning’s official invitation to join it outside)
Come on light, come on optimistic, hopeful light
Spill over into the blue that’s gradually fading into purple, contrast the darkness with your red, oranges, golds, and yellows
My hair is pulled into a bun so it’ll be curly tomorrow, still wet (which isn’t ideal in the 45° weather, but lo and behold, colder weather will be here soon and there’s nothing I can do but get used to it)
Sitting at the kitchen table, door already open so I can grab my coffee, already poured, and my book, Halloween-themed and exciting, and go sit on the steps to revel in the morning silence
The birds are already chirping, though they’ve got a way to do so that doesn’t interrupt the stillness, and they’re making my front porch sound both musical and…what’s the word for “more nature-y than it actually is”
I think it’s time, so I step outside into the chill and as it reaches my core, I don’t shy away from it but inhale deeply and hold for a bit
Another day’s begun, although it feels weird to say that after the night awake just warped time around itself
Even during my darkest moments, I usually woke up with some level of optimism; certainly not a stellar amount all the time, but I remember talking about it in therapy and my therapist told me that my prognosis is better because of it
Now, it might have taken life merely a minute to knock the optimism right out of me, but even I can’t deny it was there, if ever briefly
I’m irritable again, and I definitely know what usually follows such fervent desire to rip my face off, but (as I shouted at the skies countless times for countless years), all I needed was a god damn break…and I got one, and I’m thankful, and I’m not taking it for granted, and I’m handling my issues
It’s cold, I’m probably going to go back inside, but I like starting my mornings out here, and I’m glad that I did today
four in the morning.
too early, close your eyes again,
wait. wait some more.
four fifteen, close your eyes again,
close them, keep them closed,
eyes open, feet on the floor, hoodie pulled tight,
good morning, I guess.
grab phone, scroll apps,
close apps, shut phone.
change clothes in the dark.
grab laptop, charger, book,
coffee. need coffee.
drive to shop, greet the owner,
thank him for being open at this ungodly hour.
espresso pulls, milk froths,
the sound brings you to life.
the smell brings you to life.
you sip. banana chocolate heaven.
it brings you to life.
good morning (for real this time)
I’ve been having trouble with my sleep schedule lately. Since like, June. Since my pyschiatrist upped my lithium, since I broke out in that rash, since I started feeling weak and sore and achy and stiff and ugh.
I’m not saying it’s all related to the lithium. I’m not saying it’s related to it at all. I could have a physical thing going on. If that’s the case, I’m hoping it’ll be solved soon, because I finallyyyyy was able to get a doctor’s appointment. It’s been really hard during covid, but if I have something physical happening, they’d most likely know or send me someone who would know. And my sleep cycle fucking up could just be a bipolar thing. I know I experienced (very muted) symptoms of an episode throughout the summer, and I mean, that’s just my bipolar fluctuations doing their thing. No amount of meds is gonna CURE me, I’m just MANAGING it all with meds. And it felt managed, but…not perfect. But whatever.
It’s just super annoying that I have soooo much trouble sleeping for two days and then I’m unconscious, absolutely dead to the world, for three.
I’m picking my battles. I’m choosing not to be angry or annoyed about this.
Similarly, I’m getting a handle on that bipolar rage while I drive. I’m not saying I don’t cut moron drivers off sometimes, but I don’t feel seething anger in each and every one of my molecules. I don’t literally see red. I don’t make their dumbassery about ME, because like, I can just let it gooooo.
It’s a skill, doing that. I never really understood that idea until I started thinking of driving like a training program…if that makes sense? Perspective shift/Mindset shift. Possible DBT skill?
It’s 6:37 right now. I’m texting my boyfriend who’s back at the apartment and getting ready. We’re sending each other memes. I recorded my moods and stuff on my phone (loveeeee me some tracking apps). I posted to instagram to feel social and connected haha.
The only light in the room was coming off the clock on the nightstand, which indicated that it was 4:02am by way of a dull blue glow. It was too fucking early. And too fucking dark. And cold. Fuck the cold.
Insomnia ravaged her. Again.
The grunting snores of her boyfriend, fast asleep next to her, sent her temper spiraling but she was comatose despite the succession of jittery shockwaves pulsing through her body. She didn’t get up. She didn’t move. No matter how hard she willed herself to, she didn’t so much as roll over.
She didn’t want to wait for dawn to break. She wanted it to come now. She needed it and needed it now, in this moment, because waiting is the worst and she didn’t have the patience for it. This sucked.
It was her fault, she hated to admit. She’d drugged herself to sleep (thank you sleeping pill, melatonin, and cbd oil) at 6:27 because she couldn’t stand the thought of being awake for a moment longer, staring blankly at the wall. No, her brain was too loud but it wouldn’t allow her to move and her stomach growled angrily but it couldn’t bear the heaviness of food and there were texts to answer but no words were available to her. No, fuck that. Time to fucking sleep.
At two in the morning she’d opened her eyes but forced them shut again. Forced her brain into a quasi sleep mode by having made up conversations in her head, half concentrating on them until she couldn’t any more and the fake attempt at batting away the longing for a friendly voice, a friendly presence, faded into unfulfilling sleep.
Two hour of tossing and turning and it brought her to her present wide-awake state. Fuck.
Get up and do something, she berated herself. Get to your headphones, blast some metal, or open your laptop, do some writing.
No amount of internal urging seemed to be enough to summon the motivation to move.
She was just about to attempt to get another round of restless sleep in, but the thought of doing so was more exhausting than actually doing it. So she finally got up. Cold enveloped her.
She paced. She paused. She stood motionless like a confused zombie trying to get her thoughts together but it was a messy, tangled web up in her mind. Wires were twisted. None of them were plugged into the right connections.
Gravity amazingly pulled her to her desk, where her headphones thankfully sat on a pile of books, which thankfully was next to her laptop. A sweatshirt was thrown over the back of her chair, and she used what little energy she had to pull it over herself. It was a miracle that the setting was now one that allowed for a meager amount of productivity to take place.
A miracle. That’s what’s worth calling a miracle? How stupid. How pathetically stupid. But whatever.
Headphones on. Music loud. Laptop open. Document pulled up. Aaaaand, go!
“Going” took another few minutes of zoned-out staring, but somehow her fingers were brought to the keyboard and somehow they started moving and somehow the movements formed words that appeared on the too-bright screen in front of her.
Why is this happening again? Why did I let this happen again? Why did I make this happen again and why am I continuing to push myself father into it. Again. I’m guilty as charged. I hate myself.
It went on like that for a while. Her words chased themselves in circles. Negativity. Self-hate. Anger. It went on until she began to write fervently and passionately and quickly, so quickly, her fingers barely keeping up with the pace at which her brain threw thoughts into formation.
She shrugged her sweatshirt off. Rolled up her sleeves. Was it getting hotter, or was she becoming overheated like a computer that’s been on for too long? Did it even matter?
Her eyes flicked away from the computer for a fraction of a second.
Bad move. Losing the flow was always a bad move. She lost the momentum and let her thoughts wander and…fuck, no. Why did she let her thoughts wander?
But the tattoo on her left forearm shouted loudly from its type-written font: Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise!
Yet there was a pale light in the distance now. It fell through the window as if by accident but it stayed like it was comfortable in the bedroom. Morning had come. She shut her laptop.
She collapsed back into bed, weary from the exertion of being awake and alive.
But at least she got an hour and a half of sleep.
“If you have the courage to make it through a lonely night with nothing but your self destructive thoughts to keep you company, darling, you have the courage to make it through anything.”
[written December 2019]