Sleep writing and eating cake ….

sleep1

I had about a few years of sleep disturbance.  No matter how tired I was, I would fall asleep but would wake up between 2 and 3am and lie there exhausted, but unable to sleep.  My brain just did not shut down ….

By the end of 2011 not sleeping added to the general symptoms of depression and extreme stress, and really started to take it’s toll.

Any the who, my psychiatrist was treating me for a range of issues, but sleep deprivation is a real bugger, and is often the catalyst that makes it all fall apart.  I was prescribed some tablets to help me fall asleep.  Then another set to keep me asleep, and it was all happy days from there on.

I have been taking them for ages, and once we sorted out the levels so that I don’t feel lethargic or slow in the mornings, then it has been working like a bomb.

The key is that I need 8 hours sleep to allow the meds to work through my system, if I go to bed late (say 11pm) then I feel quite slow and heavy in the mornings.

The tablets are of the sort that I take whilst I am sitting in bed, as when it hits, it totally smacks me over.  There is no operating heavy farm machinery after I have taken my “sleep stuff.”

The other interesting side effect is it causes a bit of amnesia.  In some cases I still appear to be “all there” but unfortunately I have mentally left the room, and my body just does not realise, so I might be doing something or talking about something, and I have no recollection of what I did or what I said.

Last night I went to bed, took “my stuff” and sat and read my book.  Kennith brought me a cup of tea and some cup cakes and a chocolate slab.  I ate one of the little cupcakes, drank my tea and went to sleep.

Or so I thought.

This morning I wake up, and I have drawings all over my left arm.

I think “what have the kids done to me…” but then I realise that the swirls are rather advanced,and the design though from my elbow to my finger tips is a bit more advanced than my kids can manage – it is all swirls and doodles, and clearly is using a few different pens.

I am lying there looking at my arm, thinking “what the fuck” and then my eye drifts to the side table.

My pens that were in my bag, are all over the table.  There is an empty chocolate wrapper, no cupcakes and there are balls of chewing gum stuck on the plate.  It is total mayhem on my side table.

Clearly when my brain went to sleep, my body decided cupcakes, chocolate, chewing gum and drawing on myself with varying permanent markers was a fabulous idea.

… for fuck sakes …… {I should have taken a photograph!}

Advertisements

Car accidents and anxiety attacks ….

Monday was a bit of a right off, for all the reasons that would be good reasons when you start the day with a schedule 5 sleeping tablet.

Can’t really comment more on that one.

I slept until about 1pm and then had an appointment to get to, and the rest of the day was the usual blur of fetching and carrying kids and eating toast.

I met my (not so new) new psychiatrist and he gave me a new brown pharmacy bag of medication.  I was
not overly emotionally committed to the first bag, so I am okay with change.

I am still getting used to new side effects, so a few more is not really going to change my world right now.  But let’s see how that fares.

I decided that I needed a Mental Health Day on Tuesday – and asked Kennith if he could please stop and get bread on the way home and also take the kids to school on Tuesday morning as I could then hide under my duvet for a bit longer.

He said yes he would get bread, yes he would take the kids to school.

I thought, great.

Made some tea, stared at my reflection in the kitchen window.

Phone rang again – Kennith.

My first thought was “Seriously can you not go to the shop and make a decision without having to ask me three questions.  You have an MBA, work the bread aisle out!”

I answer the phone: ‘Yesssssss” I drawl, slightly irritated.

Kennith – with the background sound of traffic…”I have been in a car accident…”

Me – I felt my adrenal glands compress and push adrenaline through my blood.

I felt my hippocampus start screaming.  I felt my heart start to beat a bit faster to allow my lungs more oxygen to allow for the anxiety attack that was coming….. I thought about my kids and which one was dead.  Which one was injured, and if one of them was dead, who I would “be able to deal” with better.

I thought of my tea and that I might not be able to drink it.   I thought that I probably will not be able to function moving forward.  I might need to go and live with my mom.  I probably will never recover.  Teh entire universe suddenly became me-my cup of tea-my reflection in the kitchen window-and Kennith’s voice on the phone.

I started to realise that Kennith’s voice was still talking ….as he had not paused for breath from his first statement to his second…”I am fine, the car is damaged, I am fine!”

I knew I had just put the kids in bed.  I know logically they could not be in the car with Kennith.  I had just put them into bed – myself!

However that did not stop my brain from telling my brain  that my kids were possibly dead on the N1.

I had already worked out a loose funeral plan and what I might wear.

Kennith repeated: “I am fine, I can’t drive me car.  I need you to come and fetch me, I am at ……
and can you arrange a tow truck …. call DAL’S …….they are really good ….I am fine!”

I got my bag, asked Pepe to watch the kids.

I stopped and looked in each of their rooms  to make sure they were there and unharmed and had were really not in the car with Kennith.

I went to fetch Kennith next to the N1.

Kennith was/is fine.

Kennith’s car is not.

DAL’s tow service sent over a truck to pick the car up.  I had to phone my friend David to help me make the call, as I could not even remember Kennith’s cell phone number at that  point, let alone arrange a tow truck.

Kennith filled in the forms on the side of the N1.

I stared blankly at the road.

DAL’s took the car, in a very efficient and friendly manner.

Kennith got into my car and I drove us home.  I stared rather blankly out the window as I drove us home.  We had to stop for milk (and chocolate spread).

I am traumatised.

It is Kennith’s accident and I am traumatised.

Kennith’s neck is a bit sore and he really should go to a  chiropractor.  I think he might need a trauma counsellor – I am not being flippant.  I think he is very shaken —  I really think he needs to speak to someone.

That someone cannot be me.

I took a sleeping pill on Monday night – I woke up at 4am on Tuesday morning and stared at the ceiling worrying about every possible permutation of what “could have been..”

Tuesday I did not go to work.. I took a mental health day …I need a mental health week.

I can’t actually sit with Kennith and talk to him about the trauma and the effect of the “car accident” on him and how he saw his life flash before his eyes because I am ….

I am angry.

I am scared.

I am disappointed.

I am afraid.

I am petrified.

I am terrified.

I am panicked.

I am anxious.

I can’t help him with the oxygen bag in the plane, as for fk  sake I can’t get mine on, and the plane is nose diving at a bit of a rate.

I woke up this morning just before 5am and stared at the ceiling and worried some more (that is with a schedule 5 sleeping tablet).

Kennith needs support, and I can barely stand …….  I can’t help him because I can’t help myself right now.