It’s hard to go to sleep happy when when you know the world might be ending inside your head when you wake up.
As I write this, it’s past midnight and my body is begging me to rest. I’ve been busy all day for the first time in a while, packing up my things as I prepare to move to a new apartment next week. I’m looking forward to having my independence back after a long stint living with my parents because I was too sick to fend for myself this year. Just putting my Halloween decorations in boxes (many, many boxes) was enough to reignite my psyche and remind me that I’m capable of living my own life, getting things done, and contributing to the human race. So I scratched a lot of things off my long-neglected to do list today, and I’m still reeling pleasantly from this much needed burst of energy. I feel good at this exact moment.
But I know that whatever mood I’m in when I drift off to sleep has no bearing on how I’ll feel in the morning. Whether I’m jubilant or suicidal when I go to bed each night (for a broad definition of “night” – I often can’t sleep before the early hours of the morning), the type of mood I’ll experience the next day is wildly unpredictable. I may feel ready to take on the world, or I may want to curl up on the floor and cry in front of everyone I know. It’s always anyone’s guess as to whether I’ll open my eyes with the conviction to keep living.
The only thing I know for sure is that the type of day I’m going to have will always make itself known to me as soon as I wake up. If I’m going to have a good day, I’ll be able to read that immediately. If I’m depressed, anxious, or feeling any of the painful effects of borderline personality disorder – which is most mornings – I can tell within the first few moments of gaining consciousness whether those symptoms are gentle enough that they can be silenced, or at least managed, throughout the next few hours.
Though I’m desperate to figure out how to predict how I’ll feel the next morning on any given night, I haven’t cracked the code yet. So here I am, the only person awake in my family’s house, typing away as my eyes begin to water with weariness, hoping the clicking of my laptop keys isn’t loud enough to wake up my slumbering relatives down the hall. Right now my mood says everything is going to be okay.
At least until tomorrow morning.