I am up early.

I am usually up early. The husband leaves for work at 6.30 at the latest (some days six) and I like to make his breakfast and lunch, even though I don’t have to leave for work until 8 or so. But even if I didn’t, I usually wake early: my body clock seems set to morning for peak … function? efficiency? programming? None of those words describe me at any time, actually; maybe I mean I am less clumsy and inefficient in the morning.

But today I am up much earlier because I had an awful nightmare. I dreamed that there was some sort of evil psychopath around and he raped both of my young girl cousins and killed one of them. Then the other one killed herself and I found her body. That is, everybody else thought she killed herself because of what he did to her but only I knew it was actually him. And I was left in the house by myself and I just knew he was coming back for me.

The dream was horribly graphic: my second cousin had chewed off her fingers and they just had ragged ends on them and she had shirred up her face into bloody ribbons of flesh before hanging herself. I couldn’t understand how anybody could think that suicide and the terror I felt at being left alone, knowing he was coming for me, was so almost palpable that it woke it me up. I also had my husband in there, dismissing my fears with his rationalization.

Throughout out it all, this soundtrack was playing on repeat.

I don’t know why I dreamt this terrible fantasy so I’ve been thinking about it. Parts are easily explained – my husband is very rational and logical in a way that sometimes infuriates me when he is trying to help me deal with my own emotions; it can feel as though he is dismissive of my emotions. Also, the soundtrack I linked to is a song I once associated very much with loving somebody totally  and being there for them, no matter what.

Today is a day when I am not working. So many catch up chores and then, hopefully, I can squeeze in a few hours on my book. And I wonder if that dream isn’t a way for my subconscious to tell me to leave it alone. Every time I write, every time, I get very distressed reliving the circumstances of my father’s death and the grief of no longer having him, now a bruise, flares into fresh hurt. Was the dream my way of telling myself to leave it around right now because it is so hard? But I am scared if I don’t write it now, I will forget. The forgetting has already started; nature’s way of helping to heal. And I promised my dad I would.

 

To carry on or to stop? Either is a hard choice

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About quirkycharm

I like to think that I have a certain quirky charm but I am probably being optimistic. Acquired taste, perhaps, which many don't acquire. This is about my fifth blog out there. My hosting companies kept going out of business or my IT exhusband kept hacking into them and I would move again. I don't do twitter, I barely do facebook, I don't try and 'monetize' my blog. I love my husband, my grown children and my job and this particular incarnation of oversharing my life comes at a time when I am the most content that I have ever been. I write always, sporadically during the good stuff and exhaustingly during the bad.
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