A cup of coffee...

I had another good night's sleep and didn't even read my book ahead of time, but just turned the light off and pushed my head into the pillow and pulled the duvet over me and went to sleep. It's the loveliest thing in the world when that happens, when I'm so tired that I fall asleep the moment I lie down in bed. I don't remember getting up in the middle of the night, though doubtlessly I did, but I must not have registered it very well. I do remember seeing Gandhi and the dog lying on his pillow together, with Gandhi taking up more than her equal share of it. The dog tolerates her reluctantly. He hasn't figured out a way to get her off his pillow yet and growling doesn't work. She's not the least bit intimidated by that and just stays put. When I woke up this morning, the situation was unchanged and Toby was lying beside me on the bed, huddled like a warm little stove against my body. Thus we celebrate togetherness here.

Yesterday afternoon I fell asleep on the sofa and when I woke up in the early evening, I felt very bad. I felt self hatred and a loathing that was so strong that I wanted to self destruct. I fought very hard not to give in to those feelings, but it was very difficult and I thought about harming myself and taking many pills to make the feelings go away. I was trying to remind myself that the feelings were temporary and that they would be gone again in the morning after a good night's sleep, but somehow that didn't want to penetrate my thick skull and I was only one big bunch of negative emotions that didn't know what to do with herself.

I sat unable to make up my mind about what to do. I thought about writing about it, but realized it would make for a very dramatic and negative piece of writing that would upset all of you. I wanted to share my feelings, but I didn't know who to share them with. I wanted to divert my attention, but didn't know how. All I could think was how very much I hated myself at that moment and how very much I wanted to somehow reflect that hatred. Nevertheless, I kept myself from committing any desperate deeds, and that was a struggle inside myself.

Right then, I got an email from Maggie May with a list of books that I had asked for, that she had enjoyed very much and that I could look up at Bookmooch and at Bol.com. Somehow this came like rain on a desert plain and my mind latched onto it as something useful to do and to take it off the negative thoughts and onto something more productive. Do you believe in providence? It was meant to be, so I busied myself with looking up books and that got my mind on a completely different track. By the time I was done, my medication was working and I no longer felt self hatred and loathing. I was saved by Maggie's list of books.

I wonder what in the world the function is of feeling self hatred and loathing? I can't for the life of me figure out any sort of useful purpose for it. It is only plain and darn right dangerous. Why would you, when you are at your most vulnerable, have these god awful thoughts play in your head, that will lead you on a self destructive path? I can only think it must be a glitch in the system that messes up your thinking so badly. I think sleep resets your thought processes to a more normal basis and certainly the medication does. It is unbelievable that your own mind turns itself against you and wants to harm you in any way and that you have to fight those thoughts and somehow persevere in spite of them, when the easiest thing is to give in to them and go along with the self destruction.

I have to remember to go to sleep when I have feelings like these. I have misplaced my sign that tells me so. I must try to find it, but I have no idea what happened to it. I will will rummage around some of my papers today. It's a well known fact by now that sleep saves me from my worst feelings and that if I get enough of it, I will do well and not fall apart as easily. The worst thing that can happen is to be woken up in the middle of a deep sleep and to try and function, like what happened yesterday when I woke up from the alarm clock that went off to tell me it was time for me to take my medication. I was befuddled when I woke up and unable to place myself in the right context.

Well, I lived through another experience of how not to take care of myself with the timely intervention, however, of the email from Maggie. She's the one who told me to read The Secret Scripture, so you can imagine that any book she recommends is bound to be a good one. I think I'll try The God Squad next, by Paddy Doyle. It's bound to tear my heart apart, but that's what great literature is all about. It makes you want to read it, no matter how painful it is, if in the end there is hope.

That's the story of my life, you know. No matter how downright frustrating it gets, in the end there's always hope, every time, over and over again. Each day is a new day full of possibilities and the day before is left behind as a tale to tell, to no longer dwell over, but to move on from. A lesson learned, hopefully.

Now I will go and read some blogs, but most importantly, eat some brunch. I've had my glasses of fruit juice and now I'm ready for something solid.

Have a good day. The sun is shining here and the sky is blue. An Indian summer day after all. Tomorrow there will be rain.

Ciao,
Nora