Many of my nights end in horrible nightmares. For years now. When I could still walk, I would find myself in tight corners, under a box, next to a drawer, in a closet. My mind still hasn't understood that I can't walk anymore, in my dreams and nightmares I still can. Which means that I often drop out of bed and have no idea how I got there, or how to get back in. And then I haven't mentioned the terror of the nightmare yet. Which I often conquer while lying on the floor.
Oh, I made a comfortable mess of my floor for myself already, there are pillows and blankets there. It's okay, don't worry (I know you do, but please stop it ;) )
Small dark spaces give me comfort; my back pressed in a corner means that no one can approach me from behind; being in the confinements of a closet means that not just anyone can enter, as long as they don't know I'm in there. The first few years after I was 'free' again, I refused to sleep in a bed. They had to make a bed in a closet for me, and I know they felt sorry for me, which was not necessary. By granting me this comfort they helped me overcome the first anxiety.
I write my best poetry after nightmares, lying in the pillows that surround me, writing the terror away. I have learned how to move myself up into my chair and into my bed again, but I still prefer the small corners, the closet, a bed with blankets over my head, needing that illusory safety that I rationally can identify, but that the frightened child in me still needs.
Oh, I made a comfortable mess of my floor for myself already, there are pillows and blankets there. It's okay, don't worry (I know you do, but please stop it ;) )
Small dark spaces give me comfort; my back pressed in a corner means that no one can approach me from behind; being in the confinements of a closet means that not just anyone can enter, as long as they don't know I'm in there. The first few years after I was 'free' again, I refused to sleep in a bed. They had to make a bed in a closet for me, and I know they felt sorry for me, which was not necessary. By granting me this comfort they helped me overcome the first anxiety.
I write my best poetry after nightmares, lying in the pillows that surround me, writing the terror away. I have learned how to move myself up into my chair and into my bed again, but I still prefer the small corners, the closet, a bed with blankets over my head, needing that illusory safety that I rationally can identify, but that the frightened child in me still needs.
You're a fighter and a survivor and I'm honored to call your a friend 💜💜
ReplyDeleteThank you, my friend, it's an honour to call you my friend, too :) <3
Delete***smooches*** <3
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