Night Terrors

As if those random moments where the Earth skips a beat and my heart starts racing with no clear motivation aren't enough of an indication that something's off in my mind and body, I've found myself now more than ever waking up to something startling. Cold sweats drench my body as my limbs tingle from a hidden anxiety or fear that's ebbing at my subconscious. Instinctively, my eyes dart over to the alarm clock to see what time it is. Maybe I slept through it again (regrettably, I've made the mistake at least three times this year, perhaps more, but I don't like to keep count of incidents that bring about both shame and laziness). It can be 1 am, 3 am, 5 am, or 6 am. Sometimes, each within the same night, I'll wake up at around these hours. I always feel my heart pulsating like it's trying to burst free from my chest, and to accentuate this feeling of breaking free, I feel like I'm trapped in either a horrible nightmare or was caught engaging in a horrible act.

I've prided myself on being a reveler of my dreams and fantasies, but as of late, I've hardly remembered any of my dreams. The ones I do remember, I wish I wouldn't. The pinnacle of this problem lies in how no matter how hard I search for an understanding of why I wake up feeling this way, I come up empty-handed, save for an even greater fear or anxiety of what might happen the next time I fall asleep.

I've been searching, in my alert and wakeful hours, to try to figure out if there's something causing undue stress in my life. I'm trying to figure out ways to afford a wedding that my family either can't or won't help me afford. I'm trying to figure out how to start my career, wondering if I'm clearly listening to God's voice beckon me down a path of both spiritual, economical and psychological fulfillment. I'm afraid of missing the great calling of my life, even though most people I know would say that twenty-three years old is a rather early age to be afraid of all of these things. I'm afraid that my fiance and I will never be able to move out on our own and start our own lives, and that if I want to get married, I'll be forced to convict myself to servitude and misery, trapped forever as a victim of the invisible lock that holds me to my dad's spare bedroom.

These thoughts bring me no comfort because I've had all these things facing me in the past, or at least things similar to it. I'm always worrying about being nothing, about my writing never being recognized, about being a wasted voice and breath in this corrupt page of Earth's history. Sleeping problems are also common. Back in college, I would leave the television on all night because I knew I would wake up at least once in the middle of the night and panic if I were to open my eyes to complete, unknowing darkness.

Today at work, I tried to think of all these things and I had a strange sensation flutter over my body. I felt light. It wasn't the dizziness that accompanies my accelerated pulse. It was like my body was a feather, floating just inches above the earth. Clothes, responsibilities, all were falling off me like raindrops. I felt lighter and lighter, save for the unsettling lump of putty in my stomach. It was at first like I'd swallowed a fist full of gum, but the lighter I felt, the more I became aware of it.

There's something else going on with me. Why can't I figure out what it is? How long am I going to have to keep feeling this way, and how long am I going to have to be afraid to close my eyes? I give myself nine-to-twelve hours a night now for sleep, but I can barely keep my eyes open at work. I'm finding it harder to write, harder to concentrate on anything. The only moments where I feel any semblance of peace occur when I'm in Chris's arms, but with our schedules so random and haphazard, those moments are so few and far between that I feel it necessary to hold them high above all others. Dare I say, sacred?

I need to try to sleep for my doctor's appointment and work tomorrow, but I doubt if sleep will come to me. I'm tempted again, as I've been for about the week or so ago that this all started, to sit up on the sofa and close my eyes to the soft ambience of voices on the television. I'm afraid of missing my alarm clock, of missing work and, even worse, missing pay, but I don't know what to do.

Something has to reveal itself to me soon. I can feel it. I'm terrified, excited and anxious at the prospect of it.