I got 5 and a half hours of sleep last night. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing for me…
Here’s the backstory:
When I was in the seventh grade, I was what’s known as a “short sleeper“. I could go to bed at midnight and get up at 6 am, completely alert and ecstatic to start my day. Those six hours were refreshing. I’d down a glass of juice or cup of tea, check my email, get dressed and be lounging on the couch, reading, before anyone else in the house had even stirred.
A couple years after this, a little after my fifteenth birthday, as most of my friends and readers know, my anxiety took a turn for the worse. Symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder first began to take hold. I started getting really tired, really fast. Sleep was never restorative. I was sad or numb almost all the time.
Just over four years later, I’m finally recovering. I’m on antidepressants for the depression. I’m on Ativan and I practice deep breathing and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy techniques for the anxiety. I’m in therapy and I paint and meditate for the BPD. I was recently prescribed huge doses of iron to treat my newly-discovered severe anemia, which I’m told is behind my constant fatigue.
Back to this morning. I fell asleep chatting with my sweetheart, around 1 am. It’s 6:30 and I’m wide awake. The sun is peeking out from behind the clouds. I’ve taken a dose of iron, two capsules of Effexor XR and chugged a bottle of water. The cat is sitting in my lap. I have a bowl of my very favourite fruit (raspberries!) and I can really taste their delicious, vibrant tart sweetness.
This morning, I’m so alive. I hope it lasts. I’m full of hope and passion and vividity.
I feel awesome right now.