Just a bad dream

Last night, I had a horrible, wretched, sickening nightmare. I woke up crying, and it has been plaguing me ever since.

I'm not going to go into the details on my blog, but in summary, it involved one of my sons and something bad happened. I did something that I know, deep down, I would never do- physically hurt him. Badly

As I mentioned, it's been bothering me all day. Today has been full of challenges from the moment both boys were awake and SJ found my glasses like he usually does, but for the first time ever he didn't put them on my face like he always does, but rather refuse to give them to me and whine like the dickens when I finally took them away.

It hasn't been constant, but it's been a challenge, off and on, since 7:45am.

And then this dream just won't leave me mind. I feel so ashamed that I dreamt it. I would NEVER have it happen in reality, but the fact that my subconscious mind could concoct a thought that produced the dream sickens me and makes me feel like a truly horrible person. I KNOW I am not, but I still feel guilt that my mind could create an image of me hurting my child.

It's just so hard to swallow. I sit here and watch him as he reads a book nicely beside me, and I cry because I love him so much.

I urge him to stop throwing things on the floor, frustrated as can be with it happening yet again, and I cry because I don't know how to get him to stop and hate making him cry but decide I probably do need to flick him in the forehead anyway because my words aren't hitting home. But I don't want to flick his forehead. It feels incredibly mean,

So, I know it's unreal and it would never happen.

I think it partially stems from my exhaustion and all of the disgusting news articles that keep popping up online where parents or family injure or kill children. I find myself so repulsed by these stories and these people and I think the abundance of them lately is leaving lasting effects on my emotion. I think it's time to remove myself from the news feeds I have for a while as I find peace in my heart again.

If you read this and worry, please don't. Even when I get really angry at something my son may have done, I don't lash out. I generally let out a loud "aaaaaaaaaagh!" Scream into my hands or walk out of the room crying a few minutes before entering and dealing with it.

I would never do something to my children. The thought alone breaks my heart.

I hope if you read this, you won't judge me for my horrible dream.

It was just a bad dream.

in the middle of the night

It seems to me that my demons are lurking in dark shadows.

Specifically, they're waiting for me in the wee hours of the morning.

Oftentimes, when I wake in the middle of the night after being stressed during the day, I find that I lie awake, my mind teeming with thoughts that aren't necessarily "good." It always seems even worse when Jake isn't home, or is so sound asleep that I can't even wake him for a hug.

Tonight, I woke to Spencer's screaming, with Jake on his overnight route, and after changing a diaper, I headed back to bed, where, out of "nowhere" I find myself thinking about how hard it is to be alone.

That leads to how hard it was to be alone after the miscarriage, which leads to those feelings of abandonment, which I was able to shut out and move on from, but then the next monster lurking in the shadows came to get me.

Self-blame.

Yup, it got me. Snatched me right out of an exhausted state of mind and shook me to tears as I replayed the week leading up to the death of our unborn baby.

Now, I know, founded in scripture (which, for the life of me, I cannot quote, but I know it's there... or I feel it is...), that God didn't take my child. And, I know that my child waits for me in Heaven.

I believe that my child doesn't feel blame or animosity toward me, but of course, in the still, lonely, stressed out night, I begin wondering if he or she might.

But the blame game... ack! I can't handle it at night, especially. It's like my intellectual side has taken a nap and left only my overly exhausted emotions to roam free. That's not a good recipe for a tear-free existence, I will admit.

What if I did kill our child?

I didn't. I tell myself that. But then, what if?

What if? That's another wretched game.

I decided I had to get out of bed, and walk around, look at Spencer, pet the dog, and then get these tempting self-blaming ideas out of my head so that I can hope to sleep a little more this evening, between Spencer's abnormal waking every hour or so.

But, let it be known, when I wake in the middle of the night, things always seem so much darker than they really are.

I have a hard time with thoughts like this in the middle of the night. I've had nights sobbing for hours while my thoughts rampage through my mind leaving me feel bitter and scarred. I HATE it.

Hopefully, I will wake in the morning with a sense of renewed peace.

If I Die Before I Wake...

For the past four days, I keep finding death on my mind. Not in a suicidal fashion, so don't worry about that. More so in a "I hope I don't die soon," sort of way.

I've had "episodes" like this in the past, so it's nothing brand new to me, but I can't help but wish it would pass quickly. I used to be afraid of dying when I was young. I'd lay in bed terrified to go to sleep because I was afraid I wouldn't wake up. After I met Jake and was engaged to him, I was deeply saddened listening to the song "Romeo & Juliet" by Edwin McCain, because it got me thinking (mind you, the song itself doesn't directly deal with death, that I recall, it's been a while since I heard it as I have long lost the CD it is on) that I did not want Jake to die before me, but I also didn't want to die early and leave him behind in sorrow.

Well, now I'm back to not being afraid of death, but rather... fearing it will come too soon and being saddened at the prospect of that and just praying that it doesn't happen.

I obviously realize that how I feel about the matter has no bearing whatsoever on when God will take me from this life into the eternal one, but I can't help but find myself praying that he lets me live out more days here, to see my family and watch my son grow, especially. I'm just not ready to be done. Graciously, thus far, he has answered my prayers.

Thursday night, I lay awake in bed shortly after Spencer fell asleep, thinking about how if I were to die that night, Spencer would be alone, he'd wake up hungry and sad and cry for hours and no one would be there to comfort him because Jake was on his overnight route. No one would probably come to the house to look for me if I hadn't shown up at Jillian's for work the next morning until many hours of calling my phone and no response. He'd be so hungry and upset by then, his diaper certainly soiled and irritating his bottom as his stomach ached with emptiness. Naturally, I started sobbing and continued to do so until I had successfully cried myself to sleep. Needless to say, when he woke up each time that night, I was relieved to hear him and know that I was still there to take on his needs.

Tonight, I had trouble falling asleep again, thinking about how if I were to die when he was so young, he would not remember me for himself, just through what others tell him and what little legacy I have left behind for him to find on my own. I definitely had trouble falling asleep. As luck would have it, he woke up half an hour later, so I changed his diaper, gave him a bottle, and came here to write this.

Hopefully, getting the words out will help this "phase" pass once again.

And, here's to one more prayer that God lets me live many more years so I can be there for my husband and son.

Late Night Panic Attack.

After watching a disc of House M.D. episodes with my sister, who is back at my house for the remainder of the summer (more or less), I went to bed pretty late last night.

I had a couple of really wretched dreams.

Both involved Jake, my husband.

In the first, I was with my cousin, her wife, my sister, and Jake for a bit, at a big... frat house type party. I was pregnant, so I wasn't drinking, and Samantha and I were just having a good ol' time laughing it up with Jake, when Jake said he wanted to go get something out of our place. So he did. And then he never came back. A few hours later, I called and called and called and he didn't answer. So I had my cousin call him, and she disappeared into a bar next door to talk to him. I couldn't find her either, for a while. I eventually did, but then she told me he was on his way to Utah. He just needed to go. He didn't say if he was coming back, or how long it would be, or whatever, and I was stuck there, without him, having a baby. Yikes!

Granted, I know he won't leave me, so I'm not really worried about it, but it was a horrible dream to have anyway.

The second, I dreamt I was at home reading a book, and got the worst visit ever, from the Sheriff, telling me that Jake had gotten into an accident on the way home and had died.

I HATE these kind of dreams. When he's driving home late (like he was last night after I fell asleep), I always fear that he won't make it home. Always.

So I woke up at 3:15 (or so, I didn't have a clock near me) and realized he wasn't in bed. Hmm.

I looked in the living room, and I found his phone, but I didn't see shoes or anything. The truck that he had drove last night was not out front either, so I didn't know where he was.

By this point, I'm surged with adrenaline and thinking the worst, partially because I worry, and partially because I'm pregnant, hormonal, and exhausted at this point.

I try to wake my sister to see if she's heard from him, but she didn't wake, and I couldn't find my phone to see if he had contacted me, but there was no record in his phone. I eventually find my phone, but no calls or anything of course, and I take both with me in my bathrobe. I notice the back room light is on, which is odd, so I go outside. I then see the truck blocking the garage, which is strange to me also because it's noisy and parked right outside our bedroom, and I don't recall it getting there. And the light is on in the garage...

That freaked me out. I get both phones in my hand and I open the door... and don't see him (or anyone) anywhere in the garage. The only noise is the radio. I start shaking pretty badly but walk into it a little further...

And I see his legs under my cousin's truck and I start crying silently because he is NOT moving nor making noise.

And then he hears me, and asks if I'm okay. I start sobbing more loudly and tell him how I was scared and couldn't find him and dreamt he died and blah blah... hysteric rant. He has me sit down on the dolly thing next to him until I calm down and am no longer dizzy and nauseous, before he gives me a hug and a kiss, lets me cry, tells me he's okay, it's okay, he loves me, wouldn't leave me, and he'll be in to bed shortly.

Apparently, since he's such a nice guy (and somewhat of an insomniac on any given night), he was changing the oil in my cousin's vehicle.

I came back to bed and cried myself to sleep, tears of relief, of course.