I didn’t blog last week, in fact it was a struggle to write anything at all, and what I did manage didn’t really say anything. The problem in part has been a lack of quality sleep, which in itself has led to conflicts, and daily battles with tiredness.
Now ive known periods like this for most of my adult life, and by n’ large I’ve been able to handle it, get over it, manage to work or at least function in a way that those around me would hardly notice. The last few years have been so different. Not sleeping has laid me low, and several days ago I was low, very, very low and that led to several short periods where depression zipped me inside a mental suit case and for a few moments, I was trapped.
Eventually I was released, and headed straight for the electric kettle and a large mug of black instant, and an hour or two of quiet in the back bedroom of our house. I absolutely refuse to take any medication that would induce a deep sleep, turning instead which I always do to my journal and drain the the wound with words and thoughts.
All of us who live with depression, all of us who suffer with bouts of insomnia, have to be fully aware that we can without warning be enveloped in heavy black clouds and we have to be prepared. At the time of writing, I’m not too bad but still finding myself awake in the small hours. I’ve tried staying up later, but that makes no difference whatsoever.
I’m doing the best I can with shields of books, poetry and literary blogs and taking books. And coffee, let’s never forget the attraction of good coffee, instant or otherwise.