Scared of sleeping

It isn't that I'm not tired: I'm so exhausted a lot of the time it feels like I should have died a long time ago.
It isn't that I get too distracted by silence: I always have music.

It isn't even JUST because I am kind of terrified of not waking up.

If I am being completely honest with myself and everyone else, I am afraid that I will die in my sleep,

and no one will notice.

It has been a long time since it has been as bad as it has been the past few weeks. I used to be afraid to fall asleep anywhere there wasn't someone next to me. I made some extremely poor choices due to that. And it sounds really stupid, so I don't mention it to people.

It wasn't until my ex-husband left me, and I lived completely alone for the first time ever, that I actually realized why I was that way, which should have been stupidly obvious.

My dad had a heart attack in his dorm room, and died. Alone. And wasn't found for 3 days. That is why I worry too much to sleep, and why I always sleep better when someone is next to me, holding me and reminding me that I am not dead.

I hate that about me, so I try to avoid it a lot. I hate needing people to remind myself that I am not dead, to remind myself that there actually are people who would give a fuck if I died. So instead, I avoid it, sleep alone, or stay up for days on end until I drop from exhaustion. All because I would rather do that then go back to what I was doing, and needing someone around to sleep, inconveniencing them, and making things awkward.

Lately, it has been difficult for me. I have been without physical touch more often than not, for reasons that are complicated, yet make things easier. I can deal without physical touch when I am awake, because it isn't that huge of a deal. I can live. But when I'm trying to sleep? That lack of comfort, of knowing that there is someone who will definitely notice if something starts to go wrong with my sleeping, that is to say, it is becoming the forever sleep, and that they will try to make sure that I don't die.

It sounds so stupid to say. I hate how fucked my head is. Between this stupid need, and the fact that I losing the fight to do anything on a daily basis, even though I want to care, I feel like I am losing my mind. I just am painfully numb, until I get yelled at, then I either get stupidly defensive, or I get so that I can feel the blood pulsing in my ears and I know that I am going to lose my temper if I don't shut my eyes, and focus very closely on my breathing. It isn't even that I feel like I should be angry, I just lose control.

And the worst part of all of it, is that even through the issues, even through someone trying to get me to explain what is wrong, I can't do it out loud. I can't say out loud that I'm afraid I will die if I go to sleep. I can't say out loud that I don't actually even really care if I do. I can't say that every time they try to make me explain, I can hear my pulse in my right ear, which is what happens when I am losing control of my temper and thoughts.

Saying any of that is insanity; but that doesn't make it a lie.

I never thought I'd be so fragile

I am bad at a lot of things. I don't always make the best choices. The way I feel so much, so often, makes the days that I feel nothing seem like blank sheets of paper, laminated so they stick out and make it impossible to mar the surface. If I do things on those days, it is a surface level emotion, not actually sticking proper in my head, if that makes any sense. Those days have, thankfully, been few and far between lately, and yet, that also makes those days seem worse when they pop up. It's almost as though they show up to remind me,
"Hey, guess what? You're still fucked up."

I used to deal with them by wallowing, by letting those days be wasted, even if I had originally had plans. I became the kind of person who would flake out at the last minute, the kind of person who never got around to things, the kind of person who seemed miserable for no damn reason. I hated everything about my life, for no reason. Things were never easy, but there are people out there who have it a lot worse than me. I would remind myself of that often. It never helped, just made me feel worse for feeling so bad for no real reason.

I started getting better at dealing with those days. I would force myself to keep plans, though if it got to be too much, I would say I wasn't feeling well and excuse myself from the situation.

This last one though? I don't know why I was hit so hard by it, except that it showed me that, as numb as I had been feeling, I wasn't the empty husk I had the potential to be when the days were really bad. I was empty this last time, and briefly considered cutting into my skin to see if I could feel anything at all. The only thing that stopped me was knowing that if I started, I probably wouldn't have stopped until I couldn't hold the knife anymore, and the guys would have come home to that, just another mess I would leave them with. 

I haven't had that bad of a day for no reason since I lived with my mother. I haven't felt so overwhelmed and worthless in almost a decade, and even then, I don't remember it being so jarring.

I don't like to actually talk about things of this nature. I can never figure out a way to explain it that doesn't seem over dramatic or like less than what it is. When I take the time to write things out, it is because I need to get it out of my head, to where it is possible for someone, anyone, to read and understand. I've always been bad at saying how I feel, because with my mother, that was always frowned upon. That's why I've never told someone I was saying that I loved them until I was sure, because the words wouldn't come out. Even if I could write it, it didn't mean the same thing until I could say it.

Maybe it was especially bad because I was home alone. Maybe it was bad because my brain started to go through every mistake I have ever made. If I had to guess, I would say it was bad because I don't feel like I have control over my life right now, but I never know why it's bad one day and not another. All I know for sure is that I can't talk or write about it until I've processed as much of it as possible. 

I'm still not 100%, but I will be at some point. That is the important part.

Bleakness

I hate my life. Honestly, it isn't even that the life I live is bad. I feel empty. I feel lost. I feel like I am pointless. I hide it as best I can, but alone, I feel like I'm drowning. I feel like no matter what I do, it doesn't matter. Everything's been gray for a while. All the fun I force myself through, the conversations I barely keep an ear on because I can't focus my attention pretty much ever, the smiles and laughter I fake...it works sometimes. It gets me through, a little more refreshed than I was before. It never feels right.

I'm trying to be less of a burden. I know that I'm not very good at it, hell, I'm a fucking bitch who doesn't do things very well at all. I don't bring up the bad days, and I do my damndest to not be a drag. Most days, I even do that poorly. Tonight, I'm just laying here crying. I don't even know why.

Fuck this. Just.......fuck it. I don't even know why I'm writing, apart from that it normally helps when I am alone and confused. But, not this time. I don't feel anything but scared, and I'm terrified, even though when asked about it, I'm going to say it was no big deal, just a bad night, because I don't want to talk about it, because it won't help at all. It hasn't helped to talk, and it doesn't help to sleep, and right now, it doesn't help to write.

I'm going to ignore it for now, and maybe I will want to talk about it later. I just.....hoped that this would help.