I slept too much this morning.
The bed is not my friend, I keep telling myself. Even though I want to burrow under the covers and hide away from the world…the bed is not my friend.
By noon I’ve showered and dressed and I’m ready to leave the house. I’m exhausted, but feel triumphant. My mother drives me back to UNI, because they managed to discharge me without the meds for my ADHD—something I discovered Sunday morning.
That wasn’t a good moment. We’ll label it “crying episode number four,” and then we’ll stop numbering them, because I’ll just feel discouraged by how high the number gets.
The ECT people didn’t call to schedule my appointment. I suppose they have a full schedule, but that doesn’t make me any less annoyed. I’ve decided to have electricity run through my brain, people! Let’s get this show on the road!
I have moments where I wonder if getting ECT is the easy way out. Then I stop and I realize 1) there’s nothing easy about having an electricity-induced seizure three times a week and 2) nothing I choose at this point constitutes an “easy” way out.
I want to remember that. I need to remember that. Nothing about any of this is easy.
People ask me how I’m doing, and my answer is generally the same: “I’m adjusting.” It’s the truth. Actually, if you want the brutal truth, life is not as amazing as I’d hoped it would be when I got out of UNI. I feel sluggish—like I have mud running through my veins and filling up my skull. I stare at my food. I snap at my boys. I remind myself that it’s okay—I’m adjusting—but I don’t want to adjust. I want to be better.
It’s past 11, and time for me to go to bed. This is the only time of day the bed doesn’t beckon me sweetly, but I’ve made a schedule and it’s bedtime now.
The bed is not my friend.