Here I am again. 5 AM. The world is quiet, but my mind is anything but. Another night has passed without sleep, leaving me feeling not just tired, but deeply, profoundly depressed. It’s a heavy, disorienting feeling, and it’s become clear that all the emotional battles I’ve been fighting are taking a far greater toll than I ever truly realised.
This isn’t a new struggle for me. I’ve had periods like this before, where nights become a relentless battle and days blur into a heavy cycle of fragmented sleep. Looking back, I can pinpoint a specific time last year when this pattern emerged with startling clarity. It was after receiving a truly nasty, hurtful message from someone who had once been in a position of trust – an ex-therapist, who was also battling their own demons with alcohol, and who had since transitioned into a different role. The shock and betrayal of that message cut deep, and almost immediately, my sleep vanished. Nights became a time of restless tossing and turning, while my body would eventually surrender to exhaustion during the day.
I now understand that this was, and still is, a profound reaction to trauma. When trust is shattered in such a fundamental way, especially by someone you once looked to for support, it leaves a wound. My nervous system went into overdrive, unable to find peace, unable to truly rest.
And that traumatic event wasn't the only source of pain. My journey has also involved navigating the complexities of a past relationship with someone who exhibited narcissistic tendencies, leaving behind a trail of emotional manipulation and self-doubt. Then there's the sting of betrayal from a so-called oldest school friend, whose actions revealed a pattern of lying and hypocrisy that was incredibly difficult to reconcile with years of shared history. These experiences, too, leave their mark, contributing to an underlying current of unresolved emotion that can surface when I least expect it, often in the quiet of the night.
It’s a strange paradox, isn't it? My logical mind knows that distancing myself from these toxic dynamics was a necessary act of self-preservation, a profound gain of peace and self-respect. Yet, my heart can still register a deep sense of abandonment, a lingering ache for what might have been, or simply the weight of the emotional investment I made. This feeling of being "left behind" or "unseen" by people who weren't good for me is a real and valid part of the healing process.
So, here I am, at 5 AM, acknowledging the full weight of it all. The sleepless nights, the heavy depression, and the undeniable connection to these past hurts and traumas. It's not a sign of weakness to feel this; it's a testament to the depth of human experience and the resilience required to navigate it.
My path forward involves being incredibly gentle with myself. It means continuing to process these experiences, allowing the feelings to surface without judgment, and actively seeking healthier ways to find the restorative rest my body and soul desperately need. It means trusting that even in the darkest hours of the night, I am not alone, and that true healing is possible.
If you’re reading this and finding yourself in a similar space, battling sleeplessness and the unseen weight of past hurts, please know you are not alone either. Our journeys are unique, but the need for understanding, compassion, and rest is universal.
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