Exhaustion and Numbers.

Standard

19 sleeps since I last saw T.
17 sleeps since I last spoke to her.
4 sleeps until I can see her.
1 sleep until I can speak to her.

All in all, we’ll have survived 23 sleeps from start to finish.

I am absolutely, through to my bones exhausted. I was expecting this break to be really manic and emotional, with loads of switching and tantrums and meltdowns. It hasn’t really happened like that, but I had blissfully forgotten just how unbelievably tiring it is to manage my life without there being someone’s hand to hold.

Therapy is a relatively recent thing for me. I never had a therapy session in my life before I was 19. I feel a horrible sense of regression when I consider that I lived quite successfully for 19 years without any form of therapeutic support. Ok, it was messy and I was a horrible, often suicidal, batshit crazy bitch most of the time, but I was surviving. Even when I started therapy, the first year or so I didn’t really immerse myself in it. I went once a week, it was there and that was fine, but when term broke up or they went on holiday, I was still on my own two feet so life went on in much the same rhythm.

It’s only really been this last year that therapy has got intense.

The intensity has had a very bipolar outcome. The major positive has been that I have a vision now of life where I am not ill. With all the support around me working in cohesion, I’ve actually experienced days and weeks where stuff is so good. Days where I’m not blindsided by the energy required to keep breathing. We’ve had little flashes of brilliance where I’ve not just coped in a situation but flourished. Some issues have been completely cured and put in a box. Most are work in progress, but they are progressing. I can completely see the difference between before and now – I am a different person.

All that is great. Problem is, I’m in limbo. I’ve seen the great truth of what life can be like – but I can’t bask in that light on my own yet. The support scaffolding still needs to be there and weeks like this, where there is little, I’m back in that deepest of dark spots. This should feel like home, but it doesn’t; it feels clunky, uncomfortable and depressing, like when you return to your home town and the shops are faded and the park seems smaller than it was. I’m bored of the energy levels it takes to survive a day like this. I’m bored of feeling like each day is swimming through jelly. I’m bored of the monotony of just trying to survive. I’ve seen the light and I want to be there. Permanently, not just for a visit.

I feel like I haven’t slept in those 19 days. I’m on such high alert without T here, it feels like sleeping with one eye open. Really hoping that checking in tomorrow will hand the ‘high alert’ back to her, so I can get some actual restful sleep. Otherwise our session on Friday is going to be completely incoherent!

I need to feel safe again. Believing she could save me from anything is a hysterically childish assumption, but just like children presume their parents are infallible, I wholeheartedly believe I’m safer when she’s here. I’m learning, and one day this re-parenting will end and she’ll hand me back the reins for real, not just for practising. I hope that day isn’t too far away. But I need to sleep, to hand over all my thoughts to her for keeping until we can discuss, and to just feel safe.

Hurry up Friday!

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