Nightmares plaguing me. My sleep is so interrupted. People complain when they don’t get a full nights sleep and that blows I get it. But when I’m missing sleep it scares me – I risk getting ill. Sleep disturbance is such a huge trigger for me as it is for most with mental illness. I find myself so easily disoriented, more easily anxious and emotional and my concentration is shocking. Then there’s the shift is mood and all hell breaks loose. It scares me.
I think because I’m being committed to my therapy and working on things my sense of vulnerability has increased, my triggers are increasing and therefore my nightmares are increasing. I’m waking in blind panic. I’m emotional when I wake. My breathing takes a while to get under control.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid of not talking about my past and I’m afraid of talking about my past. I have rehearsed bits that I can say, the things I can recall for the benefit of psychiatric reviews or acting like I’m ok talking about things. But the darker things, the things that make my throat go tight, that make me feel like puking, that make me feel torn as to whether I should slice my skin, run away, or be curling into a ball in the room. Those things that need dragging into the light like pulling barb wire out of my throat, those things – they scare me and cause me pain at night. Turmoil.
I’m on this continual loop of nightmares at the moment. They vary in their presentation but the underlying theme is the same. I am the same. Always weak, always being overpowered. Always screaming for help. Never being helped. Always being humiliated, objectified, my dignity taken away.
And the nightmares can sit with me all day.
The other day my neighbour upset me. She spoke to my children instead of me. So I went over to speak to her. It was just about my dog. But she managed to get a couple of other comments in – typical passive aggressive. I prefer to sit down and discuss things and seek a compromise, not idly gossip to neighbours for weeks then mention things when confronted. I kept my cool but alone I felt the tears burn. I don’t care about my busy body neighbour, but the truth is, I’m weak in mind at the moment. I appear strong in nature, but I have this battle going on.
My 10 year old daughter continues now to press for more information naturally about sex and changes relating to her own body. I felt so sure I could handle this. But I feel myself becoming unsure of what I say, weary of overloading and of then being selfish not to trigger myself.
The house feels such a overflow of noise and chaos and demands and I’m trying to keep up. But there is a sense of failing everyone and myself.
There is no reserve.
There is only a bank of hideous memories and pain.