Every basic thing in my life is being strictly regimented, so that I can regulate habits such to preclude a repeat of my overdose Monday. The day without medications, Tuesday, was enough to remind me that I do indeed need them. The wine I do not miss mentally. The crisis intervention still feels invasive and frightening in itself. Whatever hormonal influence and irrational grief from my period starting, continues.
Last night was the first night I could sleep my prescribed hours, although not restfully:
I dreamed there was a disoriented girl in a burning building - boiling with fire - the walls the ceiling. There were very concerned people on the sidewalk watching her, but no one would go in to get her. Emergency units had not yet arrived.
Since I was the one (that I knew of) dying anyway, I decided I must be the one to go in and get her.
So I went into the main room where she was, and grabbed her little arm, but she pulled it back from me and yelled, "Don't touch me. You might have AIDS or something," and she got away, and ran further into the building down a dark, smoking hallway. I went after her, which I don't think she expected. I was mad. I grabbed her whole little body, and said, "If we have open burn wounds, then, you will be at risk." She still fought my hold, but with some yielding." I took her out of the building, across the sidewalk - I was mad at the people there watching too - to the street, and walked off.