Last night was rough. I've been trying to cut down on the meds a little bit—relying heavily on my psychiatrist's counsel—so that I'm not so groggy in the morning. Thing is, that makes it harder to get to sleep, and I get anxious about that. So by 2 a.m. last night, I still wasn't asleep, nor was I particularly tired. I gave in and took another Ativan, which of course meant that I couldn't get up this morning. I had to call in and say I'd be late, which I always find humiliating.

And I'm not sure if it's related, but my dreams have been terrifying. I wake up every couple hours crying, out of my mind with worry. My grandmother (who died one year ago this week) sometimes figures in them, but more often it's anxiety that my boyfriend will leave me because I'm "psycho." In these dreams my workmates also abandon me, and I become what I suspect I'll end up as: a person whose mental illness controls them; a person alone.

I can't keep going on like this. The dreams are so harrowing. But staying awake isn't the answer either.