Insomnia, Day 6

(TW: Suicide, graphic thoughts)

I still can’t sleep. There is definitely a strong internal resistance to sleep right now, and I can’t seem to shake it enough to sleep for more than 2-3 hours each morning.  I’ve slept a cumulative total of about ten hours since I got the news that Diana was gone.

I cried so hard and so much today.  Earlier this afternoon, I started to visualize my love there in that peaceful, beautiful location, ready to slip into what she called her ‘final sleep’ in the suicide note she left me.  I tried so hard to stop there, to be okay with that, but then my mind wandered.

I could see her sitting there with her gun laid in her lap, alone.  I could see her mustering up strength, taking deep breaths, telling herself to fight her ‘lizard brain,’ wishing someone were with her — perhaps wishing I were there to hold her for awhile, like she wrote.  She was pretty clear with me in the past that she did not want to die alone, but she knew that her views on autonomy in end of life choices were not among the majority. She also put in the note that life was not fair, even in death.  She had talked about wanting a big party, surrounded by friends and love.  A send off, if you will.  The idea of her sitting there alone gutted me.

Then, I could almost see, hear, feel her pull the trigger.

I began to scream and cry and felt, again, like I was drowning.   Just a bit after that, I heard gunshots outside.  Maybe going to the location so soon was a bad idea.  My mind is now very capable of tormenting me by filling in unnecessarily graphic details.

I finally started to doze a bit about an hour ago.  I think I fell asleep for maybe three or four minutes before I had a nightmare about narrowly missing a head-on collision right by my house.  I could sense that I had fallen asleep at the wheel, and that someone was in the car with me, just grateful to be alive.  I asked them “What happened?,” and then I was jarred awake, my heart pounding.

It’s Christmas, I know.  I promise I am not intentionally wallowing.  I feel incapable of much else.  I also know that I should go out and try to be around people, but I’m struggling with the idea of leaving the house.  I think that nightmare was telling me that it’s probably not safe for me to drive with this level of sleep deprivation.

All I know is that this is not okay.  I am not okay.

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