"So...Tell me about your fazzzher?"
So the insomnia thing has culminated in me being put on what's called a "mental health plan".
This, ironically, is making me very anxious indeed. A psychologist; wow. I must be nuttier than I thought. Either that, or I've woken up in Hollywood.
It all feels very 'first-world problems'. It's just not "on" not to be able to cope with things you'd normally be expected to cope with!! I mean: gee, I have a 3 year old and I work. We're in a bit of a financial pickle because of our new house and bills and stuff. Hubby's got his own work stresses. Big fucking whoop, it's not like I have 6 kids and am a single mum or anything. I don't think what I'm going through is much. I should be able to get my act together.
Frankly, it's embarrassing.
But my body has told me it's had enough, in no uncertain terms. It's saying "something's wrong" and I'm frightened of the terror it unleashed on me the last few weeks.
So I'm going to go ahead with the suggested counselling visits because, for starters, it's free, and secondly I am concerned about how lovely the Stilnox has been these last several nights; and what happens when I don't take it? If I can never sleep again, without drugs, what the hell do I do about that?
Maybe the shrink can suggest some other coping mechanisms (I think they call it cognitive behavioural therapy)
It's all a bit scary.
If I start talking about getting a little dog that fits into my handbag, alert the authorities will you?
And maybe a little cyber-hug wouldn't go astray? Thanks guys.