Crash#3 is on. This is day 3, 730pm. The first two days were depressed days but manageable. Today has brought that desperation to escape. Be away. Alone. Be gone. Quiet. Please let me go. Please let me go.
My skin is crawling yet I’m exhausted. I couldn’t sleep last night as my thoughts literally buzzed in my head and I felt kind of delirious and chatty. I just had to lie in bed and wait it out. I fell asleep about 3am to a fitful sleep. I was visited by strange faces and masks and they flew at me. I couldn’t sleep past 630am. Agitated. I dragged myself through the day which did involve a lot of sitting on the sofa under a blanket to be fair. That’s all manageable. I can do that. I don’t want to do this though. Not again. Does it end?
It’s the plans. Tick, tick, ticking away. Just ignore them, they’ll go away. I hope. I can’t stand it. And no one even notices.
If they don’t go away I’ll be faced with choices. Unappealing choices. What is more humiliating:
A. Lying ignored in pain in A&E as just another overdose;
B. Phoning up some random stranger in distress, begging them for help and perhaps being told to try a bit of mindfulness?
Neither option appeals. There’s maybe an option C that I just haven’t thought of yet. I feel so desperate. What am I going to do?
I think, just for tonight, I’ll take a safe dose of cocodamol to help me sleep. Perhaps if I sleep tomorrow will be better.