Today I learned..

NOT to listen to the CPTSD audiobook at bedtime. I know it’s a rookie mistake, but for someone that’s largely emotionally disconnected I’m still surprised when something brings up anything for me. It’s bizarre and somewhat fascinating, this time manifesting in becoming so uncomfortable in my skin that I got itchy all over. I wish I had time to explore it more, but now I’m fighting the disruption to my sleep cycle were I stay up too late and then wake up hating myself/my life/ and everything in it, and then nap after work so I have trouble sleeping again tomorrow. 🔁 No. So now I hope journaling can help clear my head enough to sleep.

I was falling asleep while listening too, that’s the shit thing. But I kept shaking myself awake because I really do want to hear it, and bedtime is sort of the only uninterrupted time I have. As soon as I hit stop – thought tornado accompanied by head-to-toe itching. I have always wanted to get better at meditating and have no doubt it would benefit me immensely, but the getting started is always hell. I don’t know if I’ll ever trust myself alone with my thoughts. That’s both why I took up (excessively), and gave up, running. I was literally running from my thoughts until it was no longer physically challenging and running became torture. I’ve gotta’ acquire more realistic and effective coping mechanisms.

And I need a balance between biting off no more than I can chew and letting myself process it. I know it does me zero good to keep avoiding it, but there just is no good time. There have been too many times I’ve thought it would be nice to be in-patient for a while. Just to retreat from continuing to fuck up my life and instead spend my time and energy and focus on my mental health and really, finally, trying to do something about it. And sometimes I think eventually that’s where I’m headed anyway, since I’m barely holding it together. We’ll see.

I have this very strange relationship with addiction where when I’m feeling the worst, I often come back to either the fucking smug declaration to myself “well at least I’m not an alcoholic or drug addict” or the complete marveling at the fact that I’m not. As if my real addictions aren’t worse. Sometimes I envy substance addicts because at least there’s a tangible, physical component. My numbing agents are mostly mental, and much more difficult for me to identify, name, or understand. But even so.. sitting here right now frantically looking at the clock and ticking off the minutes of sleep I won’t be getting, my mind tells me “you could just take a sleeping pill”, because a mind addicted to running from discomfort is still an addict.