NIGHTTIME FRIGHTS

PHOTO BY PATRICIA

People have their own ways of dancing. Mine might not look like a tango, but if inside there is calm, that’s my dance. If inside the critic isn’t smashing me down, that’s a waltz, tango, and tap dance all in one. Waking in the night on the fifth night, not using any medication because the weaning off occurred the first four nights, trouble started.

After a week of the best sleep in months, last night the critic escaped. Not having any medication in my system gave me something to worry about. It has be lack of controlling thoughts, not being off it.

Up to use the bathroom, then bam, the mind ruminating scaring myself with memories, and present things that in daytime don’t pose a problem, but in the night make my heart lurch.

Stay. No more medication or going out to watch TV. No. It was hard, harder, and hardest of all, but then birds were heard so some sleep must have finally come.

In the morning when Samuel got up, I hung my head in my hands and through tears spilled out the nighttime woes and worries, especially the parts that refuse forgiveness of shortcomings, faults, and mistakes, the beating of self so frightful in the dark.

Samuel is much kinder to me than I am, his words helping me start the day.  I hear stories of ‘love yourself,’ then love yourself more. But in the dark they feel like just words, while trying to find comfort from sounds out the open window, peepers finally peeping, and Samuel’s regular breathing beside me. There is much to be grateful for, and so much that can be soothing, yet my insides feel so cold.

Question in the night: how does one connect and comfort one’s soul after feeling disconnected from it for so long? The soul, that vaporous place deep within encompassing the internal core so ethereal…

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