Theo
patreon
Insomnia
🕑 Added 2024-12-06 11:08:03 +0000 UTC
(Alt: Above: digital painting, rough. Dark red and orange-furred character with quatrefoil markings in grey-blue laying his head sideways on a pillow in bed facing the right side of the canvas.)
(Alt: Above: digital painting, sketchy. same character as in the first painting, laying his head on his crossed forelegs. Bottom middle and right margin is where the paws are. His mane and left side are in shadow. His eyes are drawn to look extra-groggy, squinting with many folds.)
Hey everybody. There has been some small amount of progress on art in the last month, but it's not spotlight-worthy, and it's not the reason for me making this post. All I can show here today are these simple sketches. They were done to keep the rust from eating too deep. Please allow me to explain - be warned though. CW: mental illness and thoughts about the end of life.
The preparation for Eurofurence had already led to some severe sleep issues. That's when I first began to fully miss out on entire nights, in a row. Blamed it on the summer heat. When the crunch increased further and the weather grew colder, it came in handy that I no longer felt tired, though it was concerning to get up at 5 in the morning to start preparing files and such. My body had grown used to the rhythm, apparently. But something was off about EF: the joy didn't quite reach me anymore. The kindness and fun didn't make up for what I'd done to get there. It didn't seem so bad at the time, just let it all settle afterwards, rest . . .
I got home sick and the stress only picked up. My mother had developed severe OCD that she'd kept secret so I could do my thing in peace. But just like before, she wasn't going to take meds or target the issue with therapy, not that early on. Instead, she framed it as a mortal fear for her life - she might have been infected with a rare and uber-deadly virus while gardening. We talked about the end of her life. Not being allowed to visit her, I made every attempt to help her and it ate away at me. One month later, and my sleep ceased with any regularity. As I write this I look back on a week with six to eight hours of proper rest in total. Doctors have pushed me around a bit, appointments are hard to come by. I'm close to finishing a course on progressive muscle relaxation, which by itself is too little, too late. But of course, I combine it with exercise, better diet, no more alcohol or thc, consistent and thorough sleep hygiene, and meds. I'm at a point where I don't even feel mad or frustrated anymore. Emotionally, I'm sort of ok, though it's costing me all my energy to keep that up. To save myself the confusion and frustration of more therapists denying my call for help with dodgy answers, I've decided to go for a private therapist. The first session is next week. The medication I'm currently on is not supposed to become fully effective for several more weeks. Just as importantly, my mom has begun to take medication for her issue, and I pray with every fibre of my soul that she will get better. Like, I usually don't pray like that, but I really do these days . . . thankfully she has a therapist already. It sounds odd, but I can tell that her constitution being the way it is has contributed to this. She's lost so much weight. I couldn't hug her or she'd cry. The look in her eyes when she asked for my reassurance on the simplest of things was simply soul-crushing. She's beside herself and her home is not a restful place at this time, even though after all that I'd been through for EF, I'd wanted nothing more than to just crash on her couch for a while and take long walks (for real, coming home is a thing I need to do every month or I'm not myself.) The couch is now replaced with a new one, since she was scared it might be infected too. She's thrown out her bed, the rugs, over half her possessions are gone. She mentioned how she had thoughts about my brother and myself not needing to clean up quite as much after she passes in the coming months. And of course I don't entertain these thoughts, but it's breeding ground for doubts of my own: If this insomnia continues for very long, I may develop heart problems, diabetes or depression. How much health is this costing me? It's not for me to know and it's not helpful to dwell on, but when you're as sleep-deprived as this, it's not always easy to keep it straight.
About the money. The therapist I booked is a hundred bucks per sesh, and while this is going on and I am receiving aid from my insurance, I am probably not allowed to work on any commissions. I mean, technically this journal counts as work . . . Whatever. I mean to say, I am conflicted about your Patronage. Many of you support me because you care, and my gratitude for that is fundamental. But others may have come specifically to get certain perks, and I can't honestly say I'm providing those right now. For now, since my urge to be creative has not died one bit and I simply need to find a new rhythm as my healing journey continues, I have decided not to suspend the payments, and to make roughly one update per month, maybe some extracurricular stuff, can't promise anything concrete but there'll be opportunities. Absolutely not a problem if you decide that that's not enough.
Thank you for your patience,
Theo
