Night 3

Night 3 of the nightmares and I'm wishing they would have never been retriggered. I feel as though I could just fall on my face at any moment. I stare into the distance thinking about him. There are so many things that should have been done differently back then, but because they weren't we are where we are today. An incomplete family with an empty void that will never be filled.

I will gladly go back to my every night nightmares of Freddy Kruger. Even the ones that I actually woke up from with scratches on my body. That is how badly I want these to stop. O well though, no reasoning or bargaining with dreams, it is pointless after all.

I have a full schedule ahead of me and it doesn't look like I will see the end for a while. Everything is going GREAT here though, other than the aforementioned. My friend that moved overseas for a while is actually moving back to the U.S. this weekend so I'm trying to set up a time for me to fly and see her to catch up. Other than that, maybe planning a solo trip back home to visit everyone. The last time I went in I didn't get to see nearly everyone I wanted to see, and that has left me a little sad.

They're Back

For a while the nightmares had gone away. It has been a little over two years since my Papa died. The little I slept for the year following his death was filled with nightmares. Sometimes of him yelling at us for bringing him to the hospital, sometimes of him standing there just looking at me with his watery eyes, sad as can be, sometimes of him telling me he isn't really gone and not to stop looking for him, it was all a rouse to hide him from bad guys.

After a year went by, I thought I may have been close to my breaking point. The lack of sleep was getting to me and I was pushing everyone in my life away. I didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. My husband lived in a different state and I had no motivation to move their with him. With a house note in Texas and me in Louisiana I was forced to seek shelter with how else other than my grandmother. She needed constant help around the house so it was my duty as well. I was put up in room across from my Papa's. I spent most nights sitting in my bed staring into his room, wishing he would come back, ending up curling into a ball and crying myself to sleep, only to be awoken by the nightmares.

I'm not sure what snapped me back to reality, but at some point I realized how unhealthy it was for me. I had pushed my family away and I was on the verge of losing one of the only people who has ever truly cared for me, my husband. I was determined to do whatever I had to do to get on with my life.

I managed to score an interview then subsequently a job so I could live with hubby. I mended some broken fences with my family and got back in touch with my friends. I kept myself so busy so I wouldn't think about my Papa. Every now and then the guilt would sweep over me for forgetting him, but I pushed it away, I can't start this all over. I keep one of his carpenter pencils in my purse to remind myself he is always with me and also kinda like a good luck charm. That was the most I could do.

It took a simple text from my sister to start it again, I believe. She text me last night "dude, grand tarino was a sad movie." And I said "It looked like it would be. I avoided it because clint eastwood reminds me of papa." She replied "well, this movie is so papa." I put down my cell phone and avoided conversation with everyone for the night. I tried to let the thought go but I guess my brain didn't want to. Last night was full of horrible dreams. The main one being my grandparents' house full of well wishers from the funeral and me screaming in the middle of them, but no one could hear me. I then looked over at pictures that were up of my Papa. They began moving and he was making funny faces, I began to laugh. Papa always had a way of making me laugh. Only he could make me laugh the day after my horrible car accident. Thirty some odd stitches in my face and my Papa had to make me laugh.

Anyways, the remaining parts of the dream were filled with memories of the hospital stint. So many things went wrong that shouldn't have. I blame the people at the hospital that were supposed to be there to help but only ended up killing him, but mainly I blame myself. He didn't want to go to the hospital. Why didn't we just listen to him.

Ugh, anyways, at this point I would gladly welcome back the Freddy Kruger dreams to replace these nightmares. :(

Freaky Morning

So, little bit of a scary/creepy blog for the morning.

Robert wakes up every morning around 5 a.m. to get ready for the day, eat and head to the gym before work. Every morning he kisses me before he leaves & I get up to check the doors. It is something I have accustomed myself to doing after that whole stalking incident long ago. This morning was no different than any other morning. I woke up, went to the back door double checked both the regular lock then the dead bolt (almost in OCD fashion, having to check twice to assure my first check), then to the front to check it was closed and locked. I can't ever drift back off to sleep for my extra hour unless I know for certain the house is nice and secure. Now that I was certain it was, I hopped back and bed and drifted off for about an hour. I woke up to my alarm clock, jumped out of bed and went to the back door to put Buster out as I did every morning after I woke up (he doesn't have to use the bathroom at this time, just likes to chase the neighborhood birds and cats that may be in "his" backyard). As I rounded the hallway corner, I noticed the back door standing wide open.

Buster didn't seem to mind and ran straight out. I stopped for a second then acted casual and headed to the bedroom. If someone were in the house, I didn't want them to see me panic. I walked calmly to my side of the bed where the handgun stays at night (I trust myself with the handgun only, the shotgun is a bit to much for me). I grabbed it, took the safety off and mentally prepared myself to check the house. I rounded the corner, called Buster inside and had him head up the stairs to the second story of our house. I figured, better him first, at least he could pick up a scent or something. He acted normal, not picking anything unusual up I suppose. I went up, cleared the top floor, calmed down a little, headed downstairs and cleared the bottom. Checked all windows and doors.

What the heck is going on? Robert's calm reasoning when I called him in a panic, "you must have been tired when you checked and the door wasn't closed all the way when you locked it." I told him "okay, if we want to make excuses so I won't be freaked out, I will go along with that." I guess he doesn't realize the extent of my OCD and that it was no mistake, that door was double locked.

I'm still a little freaked out. I don't think it helps that I keep having dreams about freddy kruger. ah!

Anyways, I figured I'd freak some of my readers out since I was freaked out as well! Happy Thursday!