It started very innocently—and things that start this way are usually fine—but I got yelled at by someone who had zero evidence behind her claims and was making assumptions up the wazoo; I responded to clarify something and they cranked up the verbal aggression. I left the exchange and blocked that thread, but it was too late: I had broken my cardinal rule of Facebook, which is “Don’t engage, no matter what.” I felt awful emotionally but also physically (Apparently that’s an ADHD thing) and ruminated on it longer that I should have.
(Let’s be clear: I should have ruminated on it for a total of zero minutes. Just in case you were wondering what “longer than I should have” means.)
Mr. December talked me through some of it. I was pretty calm by bedtime, having put it out of my mind… or so I thought. Apparently it was still bothering me. I lay in bed, taking deep cleansing breaths, visualizing beautiful scenery, focusing on relaxing my muscles. It didn’t work quickly, so I kept at it…
For five hours.
My CPAP machine had been running the whole time because (of course) I was planning to actually sleep. It recorded five hours of operation, which meant five hours of me trying to fall asleep and failing. I’ve heard all the advice about how you should get up for a bit and do something, but my body was too tired to get up; only my brain was awake.
Mr. December woke up at five or so in the morning; we talked a bit and snuggled a bit and I eventually fell asleep around six. I woke up for the day at 8:30.
That means last night I got a grand total of… (drumroll, please…) two and a half hours. At most.
When I put it that way, I’m a total badass for still standing upright. My body doesn’t seem to think of it that way, though. Fatigue is one of my biggest fibro flare triggers. That’s why I’m going to go treat myself exceptionally kindly, with a cup of tea and a walk outside in the sunshine, and then let the kids tuck me into bed by 8:00. I hope that after twelve hours of sleep my body and brain will be almost fully functional.