Couldn’t sleep last night. I went to bed at 11, woke up at 1, woke up at 3, woke up at 4 and 5 and 6. At some point I gave up on trying to sleep in my bed and wandered out into the living room to give the couch a try. No better. 5:30 became 5:50 became 6.
I do know that at some point – I think between 1 and 3 – I did manage to sleep some, but it was a fretful sleep. I remember dreaming that I was drinking, that I was trying to work and was out of place, that I was associating myself with pro-ana pictures on facebook. I woke up with the vague thought of my mother in the back of my mind and evidence of very real night sweats in cold, damp patches on my clothes. Apparently my subconscious is not comfortable.
I know that I’m stressing about a lot of things. I’ve decided that instead of doing IOP in treatment, I’m going to go back to Pasadena and do what makes me happy – while still doing some individual therapy, of course. But it’s a huge leap, and I can tell that fear is wrapping its viney grasp around my soul, telling me that because I’m not following a traditional path, I’m doing something wrong, that it’s not going to work out. It badgers my sense of contentedness and deals my confidence blows with accusatory questions like how in the world do I expect my parents to be okay with this, how the fuck do I expect this to work out, how in the world can I ask for so much help from other people in order to make this possible?
It made it impossible to just lay my head down last night and sleep. So many questions. So many uncertainties. So much fear.
But I keep telling myself that if there’s that much discomfort over something that at core I know I want, and if that discomfort is there because I’m finally taking a giant risk instead of just defaulting to the safest option, then maybe, probably, it’s a sign that I’m actually doing something right.