I feel tiny scratches against my cheekbone, and when I take an inhale, those scratches move to my brow bone and then my nose. My inhale activates my cat’s motor, and Roxy’s purrs accelerate as she rubs her face on mine.
Roxy positioned herself as a weighted blanket while I slept, and she made no motion to indicate that she was moving. I squeezed my eyes shut before glancing at the clock to see if she was waking me from a nightmare or if she was ready for breakfast. As I blink away the blurriness, I sink heavier into the bed, disappointed that I have woken up.
03:28
Nightmare, then.
I take another sharp inhale and scratch behind Roxy’s ears, pulling at the images that were disturbing enough that my cat sensed I needed to immediately return to the present. Lately, most of my nightmares have taken place at the house I grew up in, and my subconscious easily fills in the exterior and interior details, making dreams startlingly real.
I feel the anxiety pressing inside my chest as flashes of the nightmare pass behind my eyelids.
I followed my dad from room to room, through the backyard, and back inside, trying to get his attention. Can he not hear me? I physically put myself in his way, and he walked through me without flinching. Maybe he couldn’t see me either? I frantically look around for someone, anyone, in the house to help me, but to no avail.
I don’t understand why I can’t get his attention. What is he doing? Does anyone else see me trying to talk to him? I call out for my dad, but only a whisper escapes through my lips. I try again. Nothing.
I take a big inhale to scream with everything I have, and finally, faintly, I hear myself say, “Dad.”
The wetness leaking from my eyes is falling into my ears, and my chest convulses as I start to sob. Wrapping my arms around Roxy, she continues her steady purrs. She occasionally wipes off the tears on my cheeks with her sandpaper tongue.
It takes me time to steady my breath, and Roxy sits up to move her whole weight on my chest. I’m glad I’m not alone and pet her to thank her for keeping me company. She must sense some regularity that I’m unaware of and jumps off the bed to attend to her twilight cat antics.
I don’t try to go back to sleep. I fight every night to stay awake until I’m so tired that I hope I don’t dream. There are not many nights when I am successful in that endeavor.
Glancing at the clock again, I weigh my options; it’s too late to take a sleep aid of any kind, and I can’t concentrate on a sleep story right now. I’m too distracted to listen to ocean sounds, and I won’t get tired if I just close my eyes. I don’t want that nightmarish movie to start up again.
I am so exhausted.
Am I ever going to stop feeling this much pain? I can’t function this way anymore. All my energy is focused on pretending to be normal and functional at work. I only have enough sense to keep Roxy healthy and happy.
I wish I didn’t wake up.
This is too much.
I can’t function this way anymore.
Am I ever going to stop feeling this much pain?
I am so exhausted.
Whiskey, Woes, & Words 