Unrealistic as they are, I still get bothered greatly by my horrible and vivid nightmares.
I have blogged about my night terrors before, and all of that is still the case.
I am still waking up in cold, clammy sweats crying or yelling about some strange creature that I have encountered while in a deep sleep. Or perhaps, it's a dream about losing John in the middle of nowhere with no chance of finding him or getting out of the middle of nowhere.
Sometimes, I don't even need to be in my REM stage of sleep. My night terrors can arrive on those days when I take a mini 30 minute nap during the day; I guess in that case, it would be a day terror.
And I hate every single one. And it doesn't matter what time of day or night I have them.
Tonight, I just awoke from one that I do remember and it wasn't pretty. John says that I was yelling pretty loudly right before waking up, and this time I do remember why I was indeed yelling. I was running away from a big winged "thing" and trying to carry my (for some reason) infant Olivia in my arms at the same time.
It was horrible!!!
I have already sought out help from a sleep specialist. And I had two different sleep studies done. Now, I have a feeling that I will have to return to a place I thought it was safe to say "goodbye" to. The psychiatrist. It seems that my nightmares and night terrors are getting worse instead of better. No pill is going to fix this either. I think I will have to start talking my stuff out. While John is a very patient listener for that sort of thing, I know that he is just not the right person to be discussing my slumber issues with. I need a professional.
I really don't care why I am having them. I know I should care. But, I don't. I just want them to stop. And I don't want to hear that because of "some child hood instance that made me feeling alone and vulnerable" is the reason for these either. The fact is, I had a pretty good child hood, if not sheltered a bit. But, even during my happy childhood, I had these night terrors and nightmares that my whole family can attest to.
I do remember several of the ones from childhood. Strange as that sounds, those seem more real to me than the ones I am having now. One in particular, my dad was involved in.
I was only 4 or 5 at the time, and went to bed one night, normal as any other night. This night, however, (and this all took place after I had been sleeping for some time) at the end of my bed, where my feet were, I felt something cold and slimy. I woke up screaming! Literally, screaming. My voice got so hoarse from all the screaming, but that's how long I actually screamed until my door opened and my dad walked in to "save the day" ...
I saw him come in, and at that moment, my legs were up to my chest because I didn't want to "feel" the slimy thing at the end of my bed. Dad gave me a weird look, pulled up the covers and there it was... something so odd looking, there are no words to describe what it was. The only word I can think of to use is "alien". It was a wet, jelly like, slimy and alien looking thing that he removed from my bed, and quickly threw into the garbage can. My garbage can from my own bed room.
But for some reason, that had calmed me down. And I remember my dad bending down to kiss me on my forehead and tuck me back into bed where I drifted off into a peaceful hibernation till the morning.
When I awoke the next morning, I instantly remembered my terrifying night time ordeal and hopped out of bed and walked across my bedroom to the trash can. Not really wanting to look, but knowing I wouldn't be satisfied if I didn't look, I decided to look inside.
What I saw was more confusing than what had happened the night before.
What I saw was NOTHING.
There was nothing in my trash can. It was completely empty. There wasn't even paper from a messed up drawing in there. It was as if the trash can was brand new and never used. Completely clean, and completely empty.
Confused, and also a bit worried that the "alien" may have gotten out, I ran out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where my dad was sitting at the counter drinking coffee.
I asked him what had happened to the "slimy thing from my bed."
He claimed to not have a memory of it whatsoever. That I dreamt the whole thing. That it was all in my head. That nothing at all happened last night.
That memory is so ingrained into my head, I still to this day sometimes bring it up to my dad in conversation. He still to this day just smiles and tells me that I always had weird dreams and he insists nothing of the sort ever happened. Ever.
I told John about that awful night (earlier on in our marriage), and he sort of gave me the same look my dad gave me. Like I had lost my mind - but in a cute, "Oh Sylvia, you're so crazy" type of way. Not in the psychotic, "I need specialized therapy" type of way.
So, you see, I've always been plagued by nighttime scares and it's these types of thing that has me awake every single night... Well, ok... Not every single night. But, more than I think is normal.
So, I suppose I will make an appointment to see a therapist and see if I can't pin point where all of these crazy, scary, and awful dreams are coming from. It certainly couldn't hurt.
Well, I guess that's it for now. It's after 2 in the morning and I need to go back to sleep. Or at least back to bed to see if I can, indeed, fall asleep. Hopefully this time, I won't wake up by a nightmare...
Thanks for reading, as always. And of course, sweet dreams - my dear and loyal readers...