Goodbye Sleep, it’s been fun,
but tonight I’ll forget when I ever had some.
For the nights are longer and the days are short,
and baby’s awake for much more than I thought.
Farewell Sleep, I hope you return,
but until you do I’ll just have to learn
to get through the night without you there,
for baby’s awake more often I fear.
Cheerio Sleep, it was good to meet you,
but for now I must say Adieu, sweet Adieu.
Au revoir for a while, so long and god-speed.
As long as baby’s awake it’s you that I need.
For all the mummies whose babies are certain to be awake tonight as the clocks go back tonight in the UK!
Starry Starry Night – Vincent Van Gogh
It has been over seven months since I last blogged about dreaming of my father. That is because it just hasn’t happened.
Last night marks my first night terror in a long while. A conversation with a colleague on our way home from work sparked my memory of my nightmare as we discussed funerals. At 4.am this morning I awoke suddenly. I was short of breath, sweating and disorientated. What had brought on the beginnings of a panic attack? It didn’t take long to recollect.
I had dreamt of the abuser. It was so vivid, so real, that I was completely shaken up. The worst thing was how frightening the actual night terror was. I had dreamt that I began receiving phone calls; phone calls from my father. My dead father. When answering these calls, he would speak to me, from the dead. In whatever hell he is in, he was speaking to me. I could hear his voice so clearly. The roughness of it punctured through the earpiece and entered my soul. In the dream I was as terrified as when I woke up. He sensed my fear, reiterating that I would never truly escape him, that he would forever have control of me and that I was a puppet to him, one that would be his source of entertainment (a position I had in reality).
The nightmare ended abruptly and I awoke with a jolt. I looked around the room, aware that I was on edge, searching through the shadows on the walls, looking for a figure. Like a child, the light went on. I needed reassurance.
I do hope that this will not be a new pattern and that he will not haunt my dreams. I just want closure from him. The everlasting stress that continues even after he has gone, needs to be put to rest. Just like him. I cannot cope with the games my family are still playing, even now. It is only adding to my already fragile state.
Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.
I have absolutely no reason to still be awake. It is one thirty in the morning in London, UK. I am sitting here at the computer after an hour of tossing and turning next to my husband. The bed is getting tired of my movement, making awkward sounds as I turn from side to side. I’m worried I might wake him up; so I leave.
Why am I awake? Why am I restless? I am not used to being out of my usual sleep routine. That’s what holidays are for right? Instead, I feel guilty to relax. A lie-in feels wrong and unjustified.
I suppose that’s the downside of working in a school. Your body clock is always set for an early start and any other way just ruins it. The temptation now is to stay up until I’m exhausted and wait to conk out completely. Only to wake a few hours later as my husband goes to work to reset my body clock.
I may have to say ‘goodbye’ to the lie ins.
I should really be asleep right now but having lay in bed for the past two hours with no sign of dropping off, I have officially given up.
Something is on my mind……..
I had a response to the last “spiteful girls” blog, an unpleasant one. It was clearly someone who knows N and was not happy about my post. They mirrored N by telling me to assess myself and look at my “own faults”.
I have never said I’m faultless. Quite the opposite. I find fault in almost everything I do.
They also made the point that I needed “help”.
I needed help from N ten years ago. Writing is my help. It allows me to speak out and share my experiences. Experiences that are mine. Nobody can deny that. They happened to me. Anger won’t get you anywhere, I’ve learnt that. It isn’t about revenge. Silence is not the answer. How many more women have to keep their mouths shut to save the reputation of others? I can understand that other people may not and might never have seen N in the same light as me. It doesn’t mean what happened to me didn’t exist. She was and is a clever girl.
So right now, I am awake. With this now on my mind.
Conclusion of “spiteful girls” tomorrow.
Or should I say today?