What is it about the middle of the night that makes everything you think and feel more intense? Writing this entry is the last thing I do now before getting ready for bed. And I hope with every exhausted cell in my body that tonight--for the first night in four--I do not wake at three, four or five a.m. victim of an attack of anxiety, remorse, guilt or depression.
When I wake in the night, whatever I think of is so much more intense than it is in the daylight. It seems that anything I fear is bound to come true. And I tell myself that it really isn't so--I am overreacting. I rationalize. I focus on releasing my muscles one at a time. I breathe. I think Happy Thoughts. I try so hard to relax... and I can't let go of whatever woke me.
I wake, more often than not, heart pounding. And lately I immediately panic because I am awake at the dreaded hour and I fulfill my own prophecy that I will not get back to sleep before the birds begin their sleepy song and light tinges the sky around six-something a.m.
Last night I lay and listened to Dave breathing and to his little night rustlings for over an hour. I felt so alone and disconnected. I fretted about everything, and cried about not getting Splinter to the vet in time. Finally I slid over across the great expanse which is our kingsize bed, I put my arm across Dave's chest and my nose against his shoulder. And I felt everything let go. I eased back to sleep. Maybe if I can hold tight to how I felt right then, I can keep whatever might come to hound me tonight at bay, and I won't wake till it's time to get up and get the Sprout to school.