Guilt and Sleep
I feel incredibly, horribly, mind-rendingly guilty when Patrick can sleep and I can't. Every moment I lay in bed feels like I'm keeping him awake. Every movement I make. Every time I get up for water. Every time I roll over. It's awful.
Tonight we went to bed at 10:30 - we were both completely fucking exhausted. We curled up, warm and cuddly and sleepy, to watch an episode of The Greeks: Cruicble of Civilzation on Netflix and by the time it was over, he was adorably snoring away (he has little kitten snores. So delicate.) cuddled up with our stuffed bulldog.
I put the laptop away, curled up behind him (I admit it! I'm the big spoon and I like it that way! Even though I'm 5'1" and he's 6'2", it works.) and set to go to sleep at a decent hour.
Hur hur, that worked out well. After almost two hours of silently laying there, waiting for sleep to come, having taken a xanax AND an ambien (more on this later when I get into detail about my psych stuff, but I'm still sort of writing that in my head) and expected to drift off in a nice cuddly heap. Oh, wait. No, that didn't work out well at all.
I was, and remain WIDE AWAKE.
I cannot sleep, I cannot even force my eyes closed because my brain is going about a thousand miles an hour right now and I cannot make it slow down. So here I sit, writing.
There I laid, thinking about everything I gave up to be here. I hate it here. I don't hate it here. I wish I'd never moved. I wish I hadn't stayed so long. Did I do the right thing? Was it worth it? Do people judge me for moving because my partner moved?
I can't answer those questions and I don't know what to say even to myself.
So I made myself a cup of hot chicken broth with some veggies, and I'm going to watch an episode or two of NOVA. Perhaps my sleep will find its second wind.
Tonight we went to bed at 10:30 - we were both completely fucking exhausted. We curled up, warm and cuddly and sleepy, to watch an episode of The Greeks: Cruicble of Civilzation on Netflix and by the time it was over, he was adorably snoring away (he has little kitten snores. So delicate.) cuddled up with our stuffed bulldog.
I put the laptop away, curled up behind him (I admit it! I'm the big spoon and I like it that way! Even though I'm 5'1" and he's 6'2", it works.) and set to go to sleep at a decent hour.
Hur hur, that worked out well. After almost two hours of silently laying there, waiting for sleep to come, having taken a xanax AND an ambien (more on this later when I get into detail about my psych stuff, but I'm still sort of writing that in my head) and expected to drift off in a nice cuddly heap. Oh, wait. No, that didn't work out well at all.
I was, and remain WIDE AWAKE.
I cannot sleep, I cannot even force my eyes closed because my brain is going about a thousand miles an hour right now and I cannot make it slow down. So here I sit, writing.
There I laid, thinking about everything I gave up to be here. I hate it here. I don't hate it here. I wish I'd never moved. I wish I hadn't stayed so long. Did I do the right thing? Was it worth it? Do people judge me for moving because my partner moved?
I can't answer those questions and I don't know what to say even to myself.
So I made myself a cup of hot chicken broth with some veggies, and I'm going to watch an episode or two of NOVA. Perhaps my sleep will find its second wind.