As I write this it’s 11:20 pm. I’m probably not going to go to sleep for a long time. I had a nightmare last night, you see. Of him. As tired as I feel myself getting, I know that I’ll get ready for bed, lay down and stay awake until my body decides that the power ran out and I need to shut down. When the nightmares were really bad I’d drink until the drowsiness kicked in so I had no choice but to sleep.
I wonder if the creativity I’m experiencing tonight is just because I want to do anything but sleep.
Everyone has nightmares, I’m told. I don’t know if people understand how awful the nightmares of someone living with PTSD are. Nightmares are reliving the event, like a flashback, but with aspects distorted, rearranged, and amplified. The events might not be the same, but the feelings are. I see it almost as a betrayal. Sleep is supposed to refresh, dreams are supposed to be freeing. Sleep is supposed to be safe. It’s like my own mind has taken that from me. And I hate it.