Let me sleep

So this weekend’s been interesting. My mother and her husband flew off to Paris on Friday morning so it’s just been me and my sister and my step-grandparents (so to speak) to take care of our little three-year-old energybomb. I usually love spending time with my little brother, but this weekend could not have come at a worse time. My body, most likely reacting to all this uproar inside my cranium, has mainly been longing to sleep the time away, or curl up and cry. While at the same time, sleep has been difficult to find.
 
On Thursday night, when my stepfather’s parents had already arrived, my mother sat my step-Grandma down to tell her about my condition. She asked me to show her where my pills were, and that if I were to feel terrible I should go to her. Easier said that done, obviously. Not only did the situation further agitate me, it left me ashamed. First I wore long sleeves to hide the damage from last Monday but then grew tired. Why should I care?
 
In a way I have been enjoying the absence of my overly-perfectionist mother. Instead of having someone hover over me all the time, I feel cared for. I don’t get yelled at for putting a spoon in the wrong spot in the dishwasher. It has been soothing to my overly-stressed filter of all the bad-nothings that slip out of my mother’s mouth unintentionally. Yet, her presence is still imminent, and leaving things undone due to lack of energy has mainly left me embarrassed and confused. My little brother has clung to me as his surrogate-parent for the time, and though I love his company, it has been stressful.
 
I went to watch a scary movie last Monday to have something more normal to be scared of; something trivial and ordinary but frightening enough to wipe away my seemingly irrational fear of an out-of-touch parent hundreds of kilometers away. Stupid idea, I suppose. I have been sleeping with the lights on for the rest of the week. Instead of fearing only the things in the film, they joined together with what was already inhabiting my mind, and created this lovely monster that just sits there without doing anything, enjoying the fact that this immobile presence is enough to scare the living hell out of me.
 
On top of this, I have felt unsafe within my own home. I have wanted nothing else than to be held, but faced with the company of two supposed grandparents not too close to me, a younger sister with intimacy issues, and a three-year-old that is too small to actually hold me, I have had to make do with whatever huggable I have found on my bed. My anxiety level has been suffocatingly high. Getting out of bed has resulted in my vision slowly turning black and a sudden wave of nausea. I have curled up into a ball and just stayed there in my room which, though empty, has felt very small and crowded.
 
More than anything, I have felt ashamed. Ashamed that I have relapsed, ashamed that I have more scars to hide, ashamed that having to deal with my anxiety has made me seem less willing to handle my responsibilities in taking care of my little brother. I visited the school nurse and doctor this week, and they gave me yet another BDI to fill out, which has only made things worse.
 
Thinking of next weekend, I just want to get drunk out of my mind and forget.
But that isn’t something I do.
Blah.

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