The Juice

I remember a night I drank a fifth of Jack Daniels.

I wanted to sleep without the nightmares, so I took benedryl with it.

I don't remember how much benedryl, I just know I woke up with an empty bottle and an empty blister pack next to me.

Tonight, I remember that feeling.

I spent much of my day today crying.

Happy Mother's Day.

Astaria would be nine years old now, and it breaks my heart not to have anything to show for that ill-gotten pregnancy. Regardless of the circumstances, she was mine. Now, I suppose, she is my angel, though it was sometime a few years ago I recall feeling that my angels had seen it reasonable to let me on my own for a while. I don't know that they've been around since, but the sporadic, brief moment of something-more-than-intuition that hits now and again.

It's 3:30 in the morning, and my alarm will be going off in two hours.

I have struggled with sleep lately- thank you, stress- but I think tonight would have been easier had my roommate not come back. I don't do well at all sharing sleeping quarters with anyone. It causes a whole lot more stress for me, and makes me very, very uncomfortable, and extremely anxious. Some people, I don't mind sharing space with and, for some reason, I adapt more quickly to sharing space with a number of people (like the 40 man bay I was in) than I do with just one person. It's too personal this way, I suppose. I don't want anyone to be that close to me or my things, and I don't trust people easily or much. I've asked my leadership multiple times for their help on this, but, alas, nothing happened. I gave up.

Tomorrow, once again, back to work. This weekend has been beyond miserable for me, and not in the least bit productive. I just want space and time right now, room to take care of myself, but I am not allowed that. I am sure tomorrow will go badly, as my room is a complete disaster of epic proportions, and I have given in to the medication two hours before I needed to be up. I hate medication.

The miserable, terrified thoughts running through my head make things no better, and I am scared, even, to pray, for my faith has become damp after the pain of the recent days. I have strong faith in my God, but very little in myself. I do not want Him to see me like this, which is ironic, I know.

I am depressed, I know this. When will I be allowed to heal?

I am overwhelmed. When will I have a moment to take a step back so that I might take a step forward?