exhaustion, pain, and therapy

As my mother would say, I did nothing at all today to warrant feeling utterly exhausted. What she didn’t know is that I woke up three times during the night because of pain and had to take my pain medication each time I woke up. She doesn’t get that I don’t sleep at night, ever. It is a rare event now to get at least 6 straight hours of sleep at night. I have been managing only 3-4 so far for the past week. It’s only seven o’clock and I feel like I have been up all day even though I did get up at noon, a half hour before my therapy session. I made breakfast even though my ankle was killing me. It started last night when I got home from the party and hasn’t really let up. Today I got a compression sleeve for the ankle and put it on. It really helped with pain control. I have had it on for a couple of hours and had to take it off because the material was annoying me. Now the pain is returning. You can wear the compression sleeve for 24 hrs but I don’t want my skin to get annoyed with me. Because my foot/ankle is nerve damage, even socks annoy me after a length of time.

I really want to take a nap but then I will be up in a few hours and won’t sleep through the night. It is a vicious cycle.

I talked with my therapist today. She read both my blogs on my rant about her and my transgender. She really wants me to see this transgender doctor at the LGBTQ health center in town. But I told her I can’t. We were supposed to get back to the other blog, where we come up with something different than how she is handling my suicidal crisis and I suggested that she have her doctor prescribe her valium. I was sort of half joking/being serious. I don’t know what is going to ease her anxiety about me being in a suicidal crisis. I just know that it is interfering with me telling her what I need to tell her. I remember a time where I could tell her my plans and she might not agree with them and I know she certainly didn’t want me to go through with them but she listened to it. Now it’s literally like she panics soon as I get another hair brained idea to kill myself. Oh and I wanted tomorrow off just so I could sleep in. You would have thought I was trying to steal the Hope diamond. SHE went berserk on that plan so I countered with a session for Thursday. She is like the mother hen from psycho land or something. She always wants to know what I am doing. My own mother could care less what I am doing and where I am going.

So the reason I bring this up is to try and think of a way in my exhausted state to tell my therapist she really needs valium or another way of handling me. But what does that look like? I am not her so I can’t just tell her to fuck off, I mean I can but it’s not going to get me anywhere. How am I supposed to get her to calm down? And why am I the one to think of these things?? Shouldn’t therapists already know how to handle shit? It’s not like I am confessing a gruesome murder or something. Well, maybe. In a sense I am telling her how I am completing my own murder of self. But it’s not like I am chopping off my head and body parts. Though right now the only body part I would LOVE to chop off would be my ankle. I got to seriously think about this one because I don’t know what to do. I generally like to be on my own about this stuff and she doesn’t want me to be alone. Maybe that is what she should do, leave me alone and let me tell her whatever it is that is running through my rabbit brained mind. I know the chance of me acting on such thoughts are small. But thinking those thoughts give me a release that helps me get through the darkness. But as we were talking about today, if I don’t talk about the dark thoughts, if I keep them inside without anyone hearing them, Then Mr. Hyde is going to come out and start with the suicide notes, and this time it might be more people out there than just my blog can reach.