I’m only sleeping

A few days ago, on Monday morning, I crashed. The night before I was crying myself to sleep after some unwelcome news and in the morning everything felt dark and dull. I poured myself a cup of  tea and sat down on the couch. Had a sip and looked out the window. And everything just stopped.

Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just sat there.

My husband got worried of course. I wanted to tell him it was alright, but I couldn’t get the words out. It was difficult enough just to move my eyes to look at him. Stuck, I felt stuck in my own head.

He drove me to the hospital, to this emergency psychiatric place. Thoughts kept spinning in my mind, it may have looked like I was half asleep but it was quite the opposite. I was aware, fully aware, painfully aware of every little detail. My uncombed hair. My husband’s concern. The chatter of others in the waiting room.

There was a woman there, waiting for her turn, who started talking of babies. On and on she went, describing her previous pregnancies and how giving birth was the best thing ever, the best, the best. Husband told me not to listen but I couldn’t stop it. I listened, and felt close to blacking out. My head was about to explode it seemed, I couldn’t breathe and everything hurt. I hurt, the world hurt, the woman’s words hurt.

I couldn’t sit there listening. In a full panic I fled into the nearest bathroom and sat down on the floor, in a corner, crying.

We were at the hospital for half a day. I talked to doctors – or rather they talked to me while I merely managed to whisper a few stray words in return – and got pills.

Once home I slept.

The day after I slept.

And the day after that.

Despite sleeping all day I’ve also been able to sleep all night, so my waking hours have dwindled to barely more than a handful per day. I’m exhausted, absolutely exhausted. All I want to do is sleep.

I wish I could just make it stop. I wish I could be normal. I wish I wouldn’t hurt my husband like this. I wish the pain would stop.

 

They call me from the hospital every day now, to check on me. They keep asking if I want to kill myself. Every day they ask. I keep saying no. They don’t seem to believe me. But I keep saying no. I won’t. Even though I feel worthless, even though I’m sure my husband would be better off without me, I won’t. I want to live. I want to grow old. And I want to see this hell through and come out victorious on the other side.

11 thoughts on “I’m only sleeping

  1. The fact that you ended on a positive note speaks volumes about your will. I hate to say this, but dont bog yourself down so much about being childless. There’s so much more in life to cherish and celebrate than just a child. You have a wonderful husband, who, I can glean from your post, is supportive, caring and is ready to face it with you. That is a huge blessing in itself. Cherish that. And maybe once you have shifted your attention to other things in your life, you will get a child too. But even if you don’t, it doesn’t mean you missed out on something. I know I sound preachy and you must think ‘what does she know, she’s never had to face this’, but not all lives are similar. Yours maybe meant for other, greater things. Hang in there.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Pradita. You are so right, having children isn’t everything. And I do have much in life to cherish already. My brain knows that. I just wish my heart would realize that as well!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I am so sorry that you are going through all this. I understand how the woman’s words hurt. I had something similar happen many years ago. Your husband sounds like a wonderful man. Sleep as much as you need and take care of yourself.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Åhhh all smärta, jag vet att det inte finns något man kan säga som gör det bättre, men jag hoppas innerligt att du kommer känna välbefinnande och lycka framöver. Jag tycker att du är oerhört stark som blottar det som gör ont och delar med dig av din process. Det är visar på väldigt mycket styrka och är fantastiskt fint.

    All kärlek till dig ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I haven’t written on my own blog in awhile but I’ve been keeping up with yours and as someone with a mental illness, that “crashing” can be a blessing and a curse. It’s one way for your brain and your body to step back and take care of itself but on the other, it feels like you’re in this in-between world that you hope, at least I do, to be pointed in some direction to just move but it’s a slow, agonising process. Take care of you first and foremost, listen to your body and your brain. That’s what the gods would want.

    Liked by 1 person

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