My husband and my therapist are both encouraging me to try and write something. My brain doesn't want to do it. Log dreams, my husband said this morning after I woke up from a particularly fraught dream. Log your moods, my therapist says, wanting me to remember that I have good days.
I'm struggling. I don't find joy in anything. I'm having a hard time even putting these words in a row. I mark days by when I can next sleep. I mark weeks by Sundays when I fill my pill boxes with the medication that I take each morning and each bedtime. I can't focus on a book so I can't really read. I wish I could order up a new brain and have this one replaced. It's broken.
It's 11:47 and I'm still in my nightgown and drinking my morning coffee. I got up late and I need a shower. I will probably take a shower. Maybe I'll do the laundry. Every day is a struggle. My brain just doesn't work.
The dream I had was, as usual, a workplace-related nightmare. I was somewhere on a business trip without any money to get home. I thought, in the dream, that if I leave right now, I could cash in the rest of the nights I'm supposed to stay at the hotel and get a credit for the trip home. That isn't a thing but in nightmares, nothing has to make sense. So I try to gather the required paperwork together. I find myself on this boat, and I'm trying to collect all my things and sort out paperwork, only the boat is rocking so hard that everything is flying everywhere, including me. I grab ropes so I don't fall overboard. I end up underneath a tarp just in time to see two men and a woman arrive, and I understand they're villains of some kind. I hide. I'm still hiding when the boat flips over and then I'm struggling with the tarp so that I don't get tangled in it and dragged down beneath the water. I wake up feeling like I'm drowning.∎
