Not This Time

I am alive. I have not tried to kill myself.

My sick leave has been extended, my medication and dosage has been altered. Again.

I am on medication that usually treats epilepsy. I haven’t had the pleasure to get them out at the pharmacy yet, but the way my other pills have killed and drained my economy into a few scraps of coins every month is not really making things better.

I got allergy pills for children as sleeping pills. They numb my arms even more than the other pills do. They make me panic. Panic makes me exhausted. I either sleep sixteen hours, or I don’t sleep at all.

They took a liver sample to see if my liver can take other pills. I don’t care about my liver right now. I am terrified of the things that will happen when I haven’t slept for over fifty hours.

I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep.

The fact that I keep my computer on, that there are things running right next to me. I need the distractions, I need things to keep me from thinking.

Thinking was what was supposed to keep me sane, now thinking is the thing that’s killing me. It’s merciless. It’s not stopping and I just want someone to stop it. I need someone to just stop it.

I need rest. I need these pills to sleep. I need them.

I need them.


About thezonesystems

Former miserable, confused teenager - now sad and confused trans adult(ish)
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5 Responses to Not This Time

  1. freedhearts says:

    Thank you for following my post. You’ve done a nice job here. 🙂

  2. B. Muse says:

    They say that sleep is like catching butterflies. Chasing them will not work, but if you are quiet and still long enough to forget you were chasing them, they will find you.

    • billierard says:

      ^Wow, that actually makes sense. 🙂

    • The longest I’ve gone without sleep is 120 hours. I was thirteen years old. The doctors and therapists I had back then discharged me because I “wasn’t sick enough to be treated”. They scheduled multiple appointments for me with my school counsellor, who I had gone for help to in the beginning. She told me herself, and showed me the written referral to “someone who was better suited to treat my illness”. The one person I counted on, when I was thirteen, could at first not take care of me, then the “real doctors” couldn’t take care of me, and I was mildly glad to meet with someone I vaguely trusted. After making sure that my parents force fed me, kept any sharp objects out of reach (even tried to tell them to get new suicide-watch approved dinnerware), and made me go to school, she stopped seeing me. I stayed up for 120 hours because the only people I could trust were only making me worse. My mother had to hear me scream in panic because of hallucinations I had because I couldn’t sleep. I was planning on killing myself just to sleep. Lying quiet and still for 39 hours straight, even in total silence and darkness, won’t help. Thank you for your advice, but if I hadn’t exhausted every possibility, every home remedy, every breathing exercise, I wouldn’t, as a nineteen year old, be waiting for sleeping pills that will potentially cause liver damage.


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