One of the things I miss the most right now is sleep. I just want to sleep.  I’ll do anything to sleep!

I’m too tired to chase It. It’s like being on drugs!

Don’t fuck with me sleep. I’ll be there at 10.30pm. Don’t let me down.

I want the kind of sleep you see on the television. Warm bed, soft pyjamas, steaming mug of milk. Big stretch. Smile at the day just done. Excited glance towards a cute bell topped alarm clock – ‘what will tomorrow bring?’ Comforting snuggle into the fresh deep bedding and …SLEEP!


Pretty sure I’ll drop off for an hour then treat myself to several hours of anxious worry, regret, self loathing and trust issues.



Pondering suicide

It could be the shove I need. Fixating on the possibility of death. Easier than taking the necessary steps to feel better.

I want a baby and my gutless approach to making it happen has dropped me head first into a rut. Feelings of loyalty towards a man grieving for a son he still has and a love he’s lost. And me, my feelings, I’ve put them to the back of the queue. I’ve put me last. I don’t believe I’m good enough for a different life. For a better life!

To die would be to escape the problem.

To die would be an extreme full stop at a life that still has things to do.

It would be a stupid unforgivable decision born from fear. The idea can only be seen as a diagnostic. It can only be a catalyst to change.

No! No death will come from this!