When I deprive myself of sleep, my depression lessens and my anxiety abates.
When I get caught up on sleep, my depression surges. When I get a surplus of sleep, anxiety takes over.
Which is the rock and which is the hard place? Which is Charybdis and which is Scylla?
Yesterday, I slept all morning, met Stevie for lunch, then came home, and after a couple of hours, headed to bed early. So, of course, I was up for a few hours in the middle of the night, but then I slept again.
And then woke up to a lovely anxiety attack. It passed relatively quickly, but has come back at a lower level. I walk around feeling like I could jump out of my skin. Sitting here writing this is soothing, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll have to be with myself again, in my own skin, feeling on edge, ready to lash at at any threat, and anything could be a threat. Or everything is.
In about an hour I’ll take my son to his mom’s. Then I’m coming home and going straight to bed. And that will probably be the first moment that I feel awake all day. Because.
It is one of those days. I had a good 9 hours sleep—with the CPAP—and I still can barely keep my eyes open.