I don't notice how poorly I sleep until I have a night where I'm not up every hour, tossing and turning and glancing at the clock to see if I've been asleep for any real amount of time since the last time I glanced at the clock. When 7 a.m. rolls around and I haven't seen midnight, one, two, two thirty, three fifteen, three thirty, three fifty, four thirty, five o'clock...it's refreshing, and I wonder how much better I'd be if I could sleep every night.
When something unexpected and unpleasant happens to me, it feels usually as if a switch has been thrown. All my happy, all my smiles, all the sunshine - it's turned off and can't be turned back on without a reset. (Reset = brand new day.) Last night, it was a fountain Big Red, spilled into the floorboard of the drivers seat of my car. Switch flicked off. It was an accident, a mistake, completely unintentional, but it didn't matter - I was wearing Big Red and my floorboard was sopping wet and red and my night was ruined. My good mood was ruined. Even though we were headed to hang with friends, I couldn't climb out of my funk; we left after only an hour, and I'm sure I was miserable company.
I hate those moods. I hate that I force Jimi to walk on eggshells while he tries to feel out my mood and my boiling point. I hate that he tries so hard to pull me out of the quagmire of sad, but his efforts only make me sink further in. I hate that I don't have words to explain my feelings and thoughts because the only explanation is "I'm really sad and I don't know why because it's just soda."
I'm trying. I'm trying really hard.