It’s been a while, either too down to write or too woolly of brain and strangely averse to sitting in front of computer screen. I sometimes feel “what is the point?” when it all seems so self-indulgent and I am conscious of having spent God-only-knows how long boring the pants off various friends and therapists with my insular ramblings. It is so much easier to stay quiet. To sleep. I am constantly tired and sleep so much these days that I can only schedule things to do on alternate days, in order that I can sleep inbetween or risk falling into the most exquisite exhaustion which renders me incapable of any meaningful functionality. I am not young anymore but not especially old either, certainly not old enough to be this shattered.
Have joked for a while that I’m going prematurely senile, but too often can really believe that, cannot concentrate, cannot think clearly, cannot remember things that happened days ago. My mind dances off in a hundred different directions simultaneously, thoughts frolicking around and jumping off at tangents, refusing to be ordered and checked. Insomnia equals a veritable tumble drier of leaping thoughts, falling over one another in their haste to be heard, yet never managing to form any useful conclusions about anything and leaving me ever more wakeful and horribly frustrated.
Taking too high a dose of happy pills to be really depressed. Something is still missing. Maybe it always will be. Perhaps people see me smile and think that all is well in my world. Can even fool myself for a while if head buried deep enough in sand. Doesn’t last. Never lasts.