Seventeen minutes of sleep. That’s it. I wake startled, jump up so fast, my breath catches and my heart pounds and just for a split second I’m a child and the bad mans here.
Of course he isn’t, not really. Not anymore, but my mind doesn’t seem to accept that. Vague flashes of some dream go through y head as I try to decide what’s real, what’s a memory and what’s just made from years of fear. My hands are shaking and my hearts racing so fast as my eyes scan the room over and over, sure that any moment something’s going to happen.
I lie almost still except for the phone as I tap out my thoughts, my body’s expecting. The anticipation in my mind like an attacks just around the corner. Already I can feel nails, teeth. Fingers wrapped in my hair holding me in place while I scream and no one listens.
I wish it would stop. I wish I knew for just one night what it felt like to feel safe enough to sleep. I’ve never had that. I can’t even escape into my dreams. He haunts me there. I’m tied. Mentally, how great it must be to climb into bed, pull the covers around yourself and enjoy the silence of a safe and peaceful moment.
I don’t ever remember feeling safe at night. Not ever. Not once. Always huddled in the corner, watching the door and waiting.
I try and tell myself that it’s not real any more. He isn’t here, but my body’s taken over by the fear of a five year old, all because I had a bad dream.
I feel like I’m in a room filled with snakes, stood in the middle, trying desperately to keep both feet of the floor; with every possible part of me hidden as I imagine the feeling of their bite. It builds up so big inside that I’m sure to explode with the fear and perhaps it would be better if it was just over and done with so I could find some kind of moment to relax a little.
All the while as I write this,I lie here and wonder, maybe he’ll be real again. Maybe tonight he’ll come, because tonight, I typed this and talked.