Well. I slept for 8 hours, and I can't describe the feeling that things might one day get better. When you're trapped in Dante's seventh circle of Hell, it's mostly impossible to think beyond it as each minute is agony. Getting sleep becomes one's life's aim. All one can think about is sleep, but to go to bed is frightening in case it doesn't happen, and then the long, dark night awaits. 8 hours was beyond my wildest dreams and expectations. But it happened - result. AND I didn't have any nightmares, which usually inhabit my sleeping mind.
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care. Chief nourisher in life's feast. How true. The Bard must have been bipolar to know how accurate those sayings are. People denied sleep go mad - the mad just get worse. For those who don't suffer insomnia, it is impossible to describe it, in the same way that one does not really have words to describe pain. Agony? Not strong enough for prolonged lack of sleep.
Home Treatment are ringing at 0900 and then one of them will visit this morning. Tesco's (lifeline) deliver later - I'm living on fags and coffee. Having said that, Nick brought me round chicken and chips last night, and said some very kind things, so thanks to Nick. And Erle, for just being around. People talk about the kindness of strangers, but it's the kindness of friends that counts. I'm very lucky.
I spent 16 years in the RAF defending the Free World , then got bunged out unceremoniously for being bipolar. I and was subsequently diagnosed with PTSD. Funny old world, isn't it?