Quarter of a Century

How can one be so tired after only living for 25 years? It’s easy, really. Not even a challenge. What comes to me naturally is what makes me so exhausted. Fibro, PTSD, BPD, anxiety, Major Depressive Disorder. Even just one of those things can tear a person down over the course of a few years. Try living with all of those combined for the course of your entire life, then tell me how you don’t need your 2pm nap-time everyday.

I’m not saying that oh, pity me for I am in pain. Pity me, for I am so sleepy. Pity me, for I have so many things wrong. No, no, and more no. I write these things so that you may understand one day. Shit, I don’t even know what I want you to understand. Maybe a day in the life of a diagnosis. Maybe a glimpse of what it feels like to be torn apart. Maybe a feeling of what it’s like to have this many labels.

All my life I’ve been worn down. Not just to the point of exhaustion, but to the point where everything seems meaningless. Going to school and trying not to fall asleep? What a challenge. Driving and running errands just to say that I’m a functioning member of society without passing out in the car? Life goals. It’s things like that, that come easy for other people. It’s just something you do naturally without even thinking about it. Of course you have to go grocery shopping, otherwise you starve. Of course you need to go to school and work, you’ll fail if you don’t. For me? It’s one giant calculation about how much sleep I’m going to need to get through my daily tasks.

The only thing that ever had meaning was sleep, and that’s because I loved it. Sleep was the only thing I was ever good at, as I could sleep for hours and hours at any given time of the day. I justified it with my labels, saying that I need more sleep than others because I am sick. That never made me feel better about it, but it is an actual fact. At least… it’s a fact to me.

Though sometimes my sleep would haunt me with horrible nightmares and night terrors. Though I never wake up when I have a nightmare, it is always exhausting waking up in the morning after a night filled with brand new torture. Would it be my family trying to murder me? Would it be my ex saying that he loved me, just to be torn away upon waking? Who knows, it’s always a mystery. My brain just loves to keep me guessing.

My new hope is this medication that I’ve been prescribed for the nightmares. Apparently it prevents the PTSD nightmares from even taking place, and I must say it’s working so far. While some of the dreams have been unpleasant, they are no longer draining to me. I look forward to a time where the nightmares don’t bother me anymore, or that they don’t even occur. A huge if, and probably not even a possibility. But I know that I need goals, and maybe this could be a good one for me. Let’s explore the trauma and say fuck you, nightmares! You don’t own me, and you sure as shit won’t break me.


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