I met with Jeff last night. As I was talking and crying about the uncertainty of all that is in mid-air I remembered the thrashing dreams I've been having. Dreams that resemble night terrors but no memories are attached. As I write this, I just came out of one and felt the need to get it down before I go back to my foxhole. It's 2:00 a.m.I heard myself say during the session, "Since August 3rd when the first seizure hit I haven't had a day's rest. It's been a constant barrage of attack, ammunition runs, digging foxholes in strange places, changing Sergeant's, relational losses, death and an unknown ending to it all. I gear up everyday, load my weapon, walk with my comrades in arms then wait for the next attack which occurs in the stillness of the dark.
War movies are my favorite. I identify with the guys who scream at the enemy, fire bullets with an adrenalin rush they've rarely felt, commit suicide because of the weight they carry inside and the quiet ones. You know it's just a matter of time before they, too will pop.
Instead of thrashing around in my bed I dug myself a foxhole. I surrounded myself in my covers, tucked myself in all the way up to my head so only the air I breathed could get in and out. When I'd dream again, I'd bury myself further into the foxhole reminding myself that I am protected. I'm not hiding from the fear, hurt, anxiety, depression, pain or people. I'm protecting myself because that's what I couldn't do as a little girl when men with unclean hearts battered and bruised my body.
There is no clip from anywhere that can depict how I feel. Nor is there a clip where God promises to make it all go away. He promises to help me through it. I believe He helped me tonight. And now...I lay my head down to sleep.
