It's 9:44pm. I've been staring at the screen for several minutes alternating between irrational worrying thoughts and wondering just how to start writing this. I've already deleted and rewritten the opening sentence what feels like 100 times.
It's 9:47pm and I feel exhausted. I feel like there is a weight wrapped around me. Not the comforting warm weight of my feather duvet, but rather an oppressive, crushing weight that makes it hard to move. Hard to think. Hell it even turns each breath into a struggle as it closes vice-like fingers around my chest.
I know that if I go to bed now, I'll just lie there in the dark and my mind will race. It will play out a million what-if scenarios, each more dark and horrific than the last. My own personal horror movie inside my head. I have a pill that I can take and it will cut the power to that midnight theatre, but I don't like the way they make me feel, I don't like the fact that I'll be practically a zombie tomorrow as the drugs seem to take a long time to clear my system. But what choice do I have? It's a toss up between drug-addled zombie and didn't-get-enough-sleep zombie.
I just don't want a repeat of today. I don't want my daughter to be the only reason to drag myself out of bed, only to crawl back in once I've ensured that she's eaten and gotten dressed. To be so lacking in energy that I couldn't even rouse myself to say goodbye to a friend who came around just for that purpose. To have to feel grateful for my husband in picking up the slack and making sure our daughter got lunch.
I don't want to believe the voices that tell me that I'm worthless and lazy and useless. I don't want anxiety coming to the party and telling me that my husband is going to get sick of me moping around, that he's going to resent me for being so weak that I can't even get out of bed.
But today I was too tired to call them on their bullshit. Today I couldn't make myself believe that they were wrong.
Today they won.
All I can hope is that tomorrow they don't.
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