Monday, January 10, 2011

Insomia Part 2

I understand now with perfect clarity what I had been fighting to understand throughout my twenties. Before my children came and took away any spare moments I might have had, before the husband sat down and asked me my thoughts every night, before adulthood came crashing down and demanded of me what so many others were willing to give, I fought to understand who I was. I wanted to know why I was frightened every night. Why, when the sun said it's final farewell, did I begin to panic. At night, when seemingly normal human beings cuddled up to their loved ones with thoughts of passion in their minds, I grasped hold of whomever I could as a drowning man would grasp for a single piece of floating debris.

Alone, fear would grip me. I would lay in bed, tossing and turning. It would toy with my emotions. Tell me there was someone outside ready to strike as soon as I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I know now that this is not the case. I realize that the only monsters I am to be frightened of are the ones I create for myself. Isn't that the case with all of us? The terrible, tragic events that play out in our mind's eye are much worse than anything reality could ever deal.

But, I knew none of this in my early twenties. My memories were buried deep into my subconscious, only brought to surface when sleep graced me with its presence.  I would try to sleep only to find myself staring at the clock. My mind would play it's cruel tricks on me. Shadows would become intruders. A creaking floorboard would be a man ready to grab me and haul me off to anywhere but safety. But, when I was in some one's arms sleep would arrive. It would kiss me gently on my forehead and whisper its dreams in my ear. There were no intruders. No kidnappers were waiting to snatch me. I was safe. To me, safety was not a locked front door. Safety was not something that prayer brought at night. Safety laid in the arms of a body laying beside me. Eyes closed. Breathing deeply.

Safe in the arms of my lover, I would sleep the sleep that had been denied to me. But, even then, my sleep was not uneventful. I would dream things that I had no memory of. I would awaken in a cold sweat, only to be lured back into the sweet darkness of sleep. When morning came, I would shake the frail memory of the night before and carry on with my day. I had no way of knowing that my dreams were my subconscious speaking to me. Telling me to remember. Never wanting to forget. But, I didn't know anything of this then.

It took time for me to learn to listen to myself. Ridiculous as it may sound, but rarely does anyone actually listen to their inner voice. We should. We should listen to what our subconscious tells us. This is how God talks to us. It is in our dreams, in our inner voices that He tells us what He needs us to know. It took me awhile to realize that.

I am now in my early thirties and I view my world much differently. I walk a path that my twenty year old self was unable to take. I listen to my subconscious as it speaks to me. I trust what it tells me. I analyze the information. I no longer see anything in the shadows. I find solace in a prayer and not in some one's arms. And even though sleep still remains an ever elusive creature, always at the edge, never quiet coming when beckoned, I do not feel the same panic when the sun sets. I view night as an old friend now. I have the tools to fight the devil as he stands on one side of the bed. He does not frighten me. For I have God on the other side ready to do battle.

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