I feel like hell today.
Today will mark Day 9 on Naltrexone, and the first day I’ve been hungover since starting it on February 1st. I feel awful. I haven’t been sleeping – well, maybe 4 hours max a night. Last night (this morning?) I think I got about 3 hours. This isn’t new, and not something I can blame being medicated on. I’ve been like this as long as I can remember. 25 years ago, when I was 15, I was addicted to caffeine pills. I took 10, 15, 20 a day, for 3 years or more. I haven’t really slept since then.
I found 3am romantic.
I find 3am romantic.
The silence. Like I’m hiding. Or at least, safe. Protected from everyone who wants something from me, as they’re tucked away in their dreams – I wrap the silence around me where no one is awake to find me.
The faster our world moves, the more priceless these early morning hours have become.
My dreams last night were about fire. Fire, everywhere. Everything was burning Armageddon-style. People, things, livestock.
The earth itself.
But I didn’t care. No one cared. Everyone went about their day. In. Out. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. It was the most mundane dream ever – like I was watching surveillance video of the most absolutely average day.
Except everything was burning.
Only when I woke up did I realize how unnatural it was.
I think I may have spent the night in hell.
No wonder I didn’t want to go back to sleep after waking up, again, at 4am. And, I just realized how I started this post – I feel like hell today.
Awake or dreaming, why does my heart need to so vividly turn everything into the most extreme version of whatever is on its mind?
Anxiety turns a little wind into a tornado.
I’ve told hubs before that I believe I either lucid dream, or that I simply leave when I’m asleep – my dreams are far too vivid. They are in glorious technicolour, with all my senses present. I’ve woke up with tastes in my mouth, or the lingering smell of something or someone around me. I’ll wake up clutching something that isn’t there, that I was holding in my dream. I am fully present and completely committed in my dreams – the absolute opposite of my waking hours. If I’m not sleep-walking (a post for another day) I am the busiest person in my dreams. Most times, I don’t want to go back to sleep after waking.
Now I know you’re certain I’ve lost my mind.
For the most part, I remember my dreams clearly. Usually better than I remember the last few hours spent drunk before falling asleep. Or passing out. I can rewatch them after waking, like thinking back to something I just watched on tv. And in the few hours I actually do “sleep” I’m on a sober adventure somewhere far away. It’s so bizarre.
I’m not an alcoholic in my dreams.
When I was very little, 35 years ago or more, I started having a repetitive nightmare – that is eerily similar to my dream last night. Piles of bodies, burnt beyond recognition. I could see the smoke and steam rising from them. There is no way, in my 5 year old mind, I had ever been exposed to something like that – real, on television, or in stories – that could justify why I would have dreams like that. I could see charred skin. Limbs. Never faces.
And I would have this dream every night.
It didn’t come with terror, or fear – but more confusion and sadness than anything. At 5 years old, I understood what repetitive dreams were as little as I understood the emotions that came with what I was seeing in my dreams.
I’m not sure when I stopped having that nightmare, but I think I revisited it somewhat last night. I’ve never forgotten that dream, and have told hubs and others about it many times. If I was given art supplies, I could paint you the clearest picture of exactly what it looked like.
The aftermath of everything and everyone on fire.
What the hell is wrong with me.