Well, I went back to bed and here I am again at 0450, full of beans and wide awake. I'm not sure what I have to do to get some sleep - however, I seem to be OK during the day, so maybe I don't need it. Perhaps I have to adjust my view about sleep - I used to get 10 hours a night and be hungover in the mornings - that was on 100mg quetiapine. Now I'm on 350mg and nitrazepam and I can't sleep through the night without waking at least twice. At least tonight I haven't had that sinking feeling that I got when I was depressed - that terrible loneliness and feeling of panic.
It's fags and coffee again - Lucien and Daisy have been fed and Arthur's asleep on the bed. I wish I had a cat's capacity to sleep for 18 hours a day. My right hand itched in bed and I've scratched it, but it's not too bad. Today a friend comes round to help me tidy up, so I'm looking forward to that. At some stage I must get a haircut - I look quite wild. I have grown it a bit - I've now got quite a fringe - I used to have it really short, but now I'm fat, I can't wear it like that any more. I no longer have that elfin look - more a gnome look.
More coffee calls.
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?