Trapped in a Circle

Mothwings
2 min readMay 26, 2023

Drugged, planning on going to bed a while ago. Benzo — typical dose, half of one pill — to calm the cyclical thinking of anxiety, trazodone for the sleep. The trazodone was prescribed when I expressed fears of misusing the benzo, and I learned quickly that the former worked marvelously for me as a sleep-aid.

Last night I went to bed early, a little after 8pm. I laid down initially to crawl into my own woes, intending to throw myself a pity party of sadness over my loneliness. Barely into this daydreaming, I became aware of how comfortable my bed was, and I sent my laptop to sleep (instead of off), turned off everything else, set out my nonsense by my bed, turned my fan on its medium setting, and went to bed. The only thing lacking was the typical nightly medicating, and I woke up at 4am with some regret over it. The impact is huge.

But talking about this pushes me away from what I came here to ramble about. I hope that the medications take me before I can hurt myself.

This home is hell.

I have no time to escape, no time to rest, to recuperate. Then I am anxious. Then I am tired, and depressed. Then I have no energy to do anything, not that it matters because I have no time.

The end is quickly drawing near and my anxiety brain continues to push me into the after. Actions taken immediately, actions following, the worry about what life will be like, the house one person emptier. Quieter. Depressing.

And for this, I find no relief. I wake up briefly every day to hear a message before returning to sleep, waking if called. The calls will stop in time. But for now I find myself full of resentment, and empty emotionally. Exhaustion overtakes me.

It is the end of all of this, though, that puts me back into the circle.

I am anxious again. What if, what if, what if. What then? What now? am I prepared for these actions? What then?

The clonazepam has taken the edge off this anxiety, but I still feel it underneath the surface. It is perpetual — when I wake up later it will come rushing back, and I will face another day full of anxiety, full of seeing reality for what it is, full of the awareness that…

Life is depressing. Death… I suppose that is too.

--

--

Mothwings

Someone told me I was a good writer. I'm not, so this is a blog. Tend to one’s own flame, and do not extinguish the flames of others.