It's a Nightmare

Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is nightmare. Really, it is. I have so many nightmares each and every night, that I lose count.

I wake up in a puddle of sweat, the bed covers kicked off, my heart throbbing and I’m struggling to catch my breath. I don’t recall running a marathon, but it sure feels like I have.

I’m scared. I want to move and find someone who feels safe. But I’m scared. I’m too scared to move out of my bed.

I lie here silently. Well, I try to lie here silently. I’m trying so hard to stop panting and quiet my breathing, but it’s only getting louder. What if he hears me?

I want to stop these feelings of fear, but they only seem to be getting worse. Am I safe here alone? Will he come hurt me? What if I get up to go find someone who will make me feel better? Will he hurt me on the way?

I’m scared. No. I am terrified.

I reach to turn the light on, but I stop myself. What if he is waiting outside of my door? What if he can see the light shining in a thin line from under my door?

I lie here in the puddle of sweat. I remember to focus on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Okay. I’m breathing normal.

I’m a twenty-five year old adult. I’m safe. I’m not a little girl anymore. I am safe. He is not around to hurt me. I am safe.

I’m relaxed. I fall asleep, knowing that I will wake up again, and the cycle will repeat itself. Eventually, around four in the morning, I will give up sleeping and will get up and begin my day, even though I am exhausted and do not feel like I have rested at all.