Night Terrors. January 1, 2014.Sleep would have to wait. Insomnia is the companion that won't quit. The fear of closing my eyes took on life. Matt is my safety, my harbor, my balance; no matter where I am if he is with me, I have to discern what is real is the assurance of living, of love. But I struggled with reality. Am I alive? Hopelessness came charging at me in waves of undeniable emotion, directly assaulting my head and heart. Matt held me, and that seemed to help, but the nightmares persisted.In the middle of the night, the feeling of being tied down, unable to breathe, of being lost and confused was ever-present. That moment seemed so real. There was an invisible hand clasped over my mouth and nose; my ribs heaved as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate my lungs. My limbs felt tied. The feeling of being paralyzed was frightening as the struggle with reality was tipping in death's direction. Fear. How do I explain the unexplainable? I was spinning out of control, being pushed into blackness. I wanted to run; I wanted to scream, "I am here! I am here!" and yet I lay in a cold sweat. Matt's touch and soothing whispers of "You are home, you are safe," are reassuring, inviting, warm. It was his love that drove me back into the present. He tried to wrestle the left side of my body as it's in an uncontrollable, thrashing rage of violence. The negative memories came with a cost. Living a false reality when I closed my eyes for some much-needed rest was terrifying. No one should be fearful of sleep, yet I was. Every nightmare seemed real. Every nightmare took me back to a place where I didn't want to go, where I didn't want to remember. There was nothing of value in them.Sleep seemed like a very distant reality. I wanted to sleep; I longed for it, but it would not come tonight. Tonight, I lay in a sweat-drenched cocoon. It would be a long night. Where's Mary? How could I work if I couldn't live? The message from Jesus echoed in my head, "You must go back, your job is not done?" The guilt was heavy on my heart and with my stupid brain injury; I had a difficult time recognizing what was real. What had I done to deserve such love? How could I make up for the heartache, the sadness that I dragged everyone close to me through? I prayed silently. Was God listening? Had he left me? Mary had not come to my rescue last night. Was she real, was I alive? Or was this a cruel form of hell? I prayed for mercy. I didn't feel like I deserved the love of our Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, but I clung to it and hung onto the shreds of faith, onto my conversation with him: "Your job is not done." I had to believe at that moment; I had to trust Him. My redeemer. How could I possibly work when I couldn't live? God, please show me or take me but please help me out of this lukewarm life, out of this gray dreariness. I promised myself, I promised God: Whatever it would take to get better, whatever it takes, I will work hard, I will. I will. I will.
