So, the whole original purpose of this blog was to be a release of all that pent up BS I keep inside. It has evolved into so much more! But I still need my release. So, if you would be so kind, permit me a moment to let loose a bit.
I have plenty to live for. Logic tells me that. Some days I even believe it. But in spite of all the reminders I put around for me, I still have bad days. Its getting to the point when I can now tell when a downhill slide is starting. I can fight it, and sometimes I win the battle, but the subconscious is a bitch.
The past few night have torn me a new one. This has become the newest bedtime routine, complete with all my eccentricities:
Clear bed of all non sleeping items.
Set alarm.
Get onto bed, ensure blanket is easily grabbed to throw over myself.
Get C-Pap mask ready to put on, turn machine on.
Reach to turn off the ceiling fan light, making sure no body part goes past the bed.
Put mask on, pull up covers.
Arrange myself on the bed, again making sure nothing sticks over the bed.
Breathe.
Force muscles to relax.
Close eyes because the reflection in the TV is creepy.
Mentally visualize purple numbers counting up. (On normal days, I'm asleep by the time I reach 30.)
Numbers get replaced by nightmarish vision.
Eyes fly open, heart rate increases, feel like suffocating in mask.
Breathe.
Mentally berate myself for allowing the vision in.
Close eyes and count.
Feel a crawling sensation on my leg, eyes flow open and begin to panic.
Breathe.
Mentally berate myself, full well knowing the creepy crawly sensation is because my legs are swollen.
Close eyes and count.
Numbers get replaced by worse nightmarish vision.
Panic.
Mentally berate.
Close eyes.
Strange noise wakes me up.
Panic
Realize the strange noise was just a car driving down the road.
Mentally berate.
Close eyes.
Another nightmarish vision appears.
Hands reach for me and drag me into the nightmare.
Can't wake up.
Can't fight it.
Must suffer the worst indignities.
Must suffer the worst days of my life... in front of an audience.
Must suffer worst fears.
Must suffer torture.
Completely at mercy of nightmares.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do to wake up from these nightmares. Gotta love narcolepsy! I wake to my alarm in the morning sweating as if I'd been running all night.
This is why I write. I write for the vain hope that I can release some of those monsters. I write so that maybe, just maybe, I can DREAM again...
I suffer nightmares too. It took me a long time, but I trained myself to forget my dreams. It took years of pushing the dreams away and not reliving them.
ReplyDeleteI still sometimes can't get away from them. But they are less than they used to be- at least that I remember.
I hate nightmares, it's always something horrible like watching both my kids die in front of me and never being able to do anything about it.
I wish there was some advice or good words i could depart upon you that might help make this better, but the only thing I can say is at least the dreams aren't real- they feel real and my body will react as if they are real on some levels, but in the end I know it's not reality, just some hellish version I never want to think about.
Hugs