Sleep is GOOD

Yeah, so last night... I actually got some SLEEP. It was utterly insane. I passed out in bed with the TV and the overhead light still on, with my phone in my hand around 9:45 PM. I woke up when my husband 2-wayed me again and decided to get up and wash my face and turn off the light and turn on the alarm and actually go to sleep for the night. So, I got about... over 8 hours of sleep. Whoo hoo!

AND, no active dreams all night for a change. I still had weird dreams, but they weren't all about me having to run away from people who were trying to shoot me or anything. When I have those dreams for HOURS during the night (which is how long they generally last), it's like I might as well have not slept at all. I feel like I was running around and stressing the whole time. I might as well have been awake and painting or something.

I'm still contemplating going on the meds that my sister is on that completely knock her out at night. I want to be able to SLEEP LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, while not having to actually be a normal person. I don't want to continue to sample the various types of insomnia for the rest of my life, as I have done since I was little. Switching from slow-sleep insomnia (inability to fall asleep for HOURS), to waking up the middle of the night and being wide awake to just BEING UNABLE TO SLEEP, no matter what I do. I'm beginning to hate my mind for doing everything it can to make me insane. Lack of sleep definitely will lead to further insanity for me... I can see it already.

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I have a confession to make. (AND TODAY, I'M GOING TO KEEP IT IN HERE.) I went from being a month and a week free of SI, to one day. I hate starting the count over. I cut my thighs up on Sunday night. Oops. There was some emotional trauma going on...fighting with my husband on the phone about certain things that I won't go into here...and I couldn't take it anymore. So I got his triple-bladed razor and I cut. And the first few cuts didn't bring nearly the same relief as it always has before, so I just KEPT doing it... When I counted the next morning, there were 21 cuts on my left thigh and 10 on my right. Oops.

I think part of it was being so emotional (a feeling that I CAN'T STAND) and part of it was just that I hadn't done it in a while. It's like any addiction. It's a hard habit to break. Especially since while someone might have to go out of their way to find heroin or coke, the razors I use are ALWAYS around...

The good thing is that it never felt as good as it normally does. And while the sight of my blood dripping definitely made me feel better, the actual cuts HURT. They don't normally. At least that's something.

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So...there...I said it. I admitted I cut again. I've already been yelled at by my husband and my best friend (who told me she'd KICK MY ASS if I did it again), so I don't need to be yelled at by anyone else.

Sorry if I offend anyone... I'm working on my honesty in this diary...

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HAPPY TUESDAY!