I spent most of yesterday in bed, by 7am my head hurt so much that having my eyes open seemed daft. I ended up crawling back to bed. A waste of a day. Yet, maybe a symptom of other things, similar to my dreams of dying. I know what my family and friends will say, I work too much, I work too hard. Then again, when I'm crying down the phone to my Mother because I need a new sofa and I can't afford one, I do have to wonder if I could work harder.
I live alone, I know that if I were to move to a new place, with housemates I'd have more spare money, I could, even, ask the boyfriend to move in with me. I like my own space though, and I don't think it's too obscene to expect to earn enough to live in a one bedroom flat alone. Or maybe it is.
There's a quote in Stranger Things 2, where Will is talking about his 'now' memories. It hit a nerve and it hit it hard. I'm placing metaphor where there is none, but I can easily feel Will's pain, and the fear that he has surrounding the monster that he has not only seen but felt.
It's not always good to anthropomorphise illness, and probably especially not good to do it to mental illness; to see it as something outside of myself, as a thing, a monster provides an element of separation between myself and the illness that at times is much needed.
To put a mental space between myself and beasty (as my good friend would put it) eases the pain of knowing this is a label I will carry with me for a long time yet.
I am tired. So so tired.