I want it.
I go to bed exhausted. I get out of bed exhausted. In between, nothing. Neither true sleep nor true wakefulness. I feel compelled to move my legs. To stretch my hands. I shove my head beneath the pillow, hoping that action will block out whatever it is that keeps me from rest.
But the problem is inside.
I’ve read that insomnia is common when going through Cymbalta withdrawal, but this? It’s not insomnia. Not really. I deal with that on a regular basis. I’m not wired. My mind isn’t racing. I don’t feel anxious. This is something else, something I can’t quite define.
So I toss and turn and feel jealous of Chris, who snores a little and sleeps soundly. I even feel jealous of the Benny and Blue, the dogs, all curled up in their warm little nests.
My mind turns to Jesus, who knows about weariness. Of body and of spirit. I think about His offer:
“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” – Matthew 11:28 (NKJV)
It will come.
For all the posts in The Detox Diaries series, go here.