Insomnia: when I’ve been awake so long that the fibromyalgia and rheumatoid begin screaming along every sinew and joint; when my brain insists on plodding on further through activities I don’t recall performing; when 3 am is suddenly 10 am and how I got there is a blank; when I know I should be incoherent with fatigue and the sustained ache.
And yet I’m not, because fresh, sharp pain is more interesting to inflict upon myself despite my throbbing joints. The fingernails I’ve partly torn off can attest to that.
Slept 15 hours so far. My right hip is bruised from lying on it. I did manage to wake and feed the cats, though I almost didn’t. I readily admit that I’d be sleeping a lot more in general if I didn’t have them — assuming I was alive at all; one is a therapy cat — and yet I know I’m not doing them any favours. I shouldn’t have pets by this reckoning, but if I didn’t, I’d definitely be dead.
What does one do in such a situation?
This one, at least, is now going back to sleep.