slumber.

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I have trouble reading and writing now. I cant concentrate in long enough spurts to absorb information, and my memory is fleeting at best. I will do my best here.

My new meds make me tired, tired, tired. Tired in my bones. I am unsure how much of this exhaustion is medicated, and how much is the natural progression of recuperating from months of being on edge (be it on one side or the other) but for now, all I do is sleep. I feel like my brain is wrapped in bubble wrap most of the time. I cant tell if its because I can never quite wake up, it’s the meds, or it’s a symptom left behind from all the chaos. I get angry and cry easily. Again, not sure if this is a side effect, a side effect of being tired, or a left over symptom. I lose my shit a lot.

I feel like I should rightfully quit my job so they can hire someone else. To be fair. To have someone in the position when they actually need someone in the position. I cant afford to quit my job. At all. I also remember liking it, back when my brain was together and not a crumbled mess tacked together with chewing gum. I cant work. I just sleep, and need to be asleep. I’m unsure what to do next.

I’m out at my parents place. My mom likes it when I’m here when I’m a mess. I know its an anxiety thing, but its also a parent thing. She likes to make sure I’m breathing. It has helped too. I get so numbly bored because I can’t get my brain to function (cant read books, cant follow tv shows, cant work, too exhausted to exercise, cant concentrate enough to cook…) that I spiral down pretty quickly. So its nice to have people to talk to… about anything. Its my only thing left, really. So they drag me with them on random errands.

This is my life now. I miss the rest of it.

I have been having a lot of trouble believing the rest will ever come back. I dont know what else to say about it other than I feel like I need months to recuperate and that I think my body is going to force that to happen even though I cant possibly afford it. I don’t know if I will be the same at the end of it. I dont know what to do.

I would not wish this experience on anyone. It’s not even the symptoms, so much, though all of that was easily the worst part of my life. Its the recovery. The waiting. The being half of yourself. Waiting, dragging the listless deadweight forward on already shattered knees. Just hoping, hoping, hoping something will convince it to emerge from its inebriated slumber… and being prettified of what that would mean.

Is this it, then?

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