Nightmare on (My) Street

I fight for my life every night. For approximately 7 weeks I have been having nightmares, one of which is recurring and most of which involve me drowning. These dreams occur every night.

Every. Single. Night.

The dream that I usually have starts with my car sinking into a deep, dark body of water. At some point in the dream, I am holding my breath, lungs about to explode, desperately swimming for the surface. The worst part of the dream is not that I am struggling to reach the surface, but that I am clinging to the hands of two of my children. There is a stabbing pain in my heart, because I am only able to save two. The loss is very dramatic and usually involves me watching the frightened face and pleading look of one of my children as they disappear into the depths.

It gets worse. The intensity of my desire for air increases steadily until, frantically, I let go of my other two children and claw myself to the surface.

Sometimes I awake just as my head breaks the surface, finally able to draw a breath. Other times, I hold onto the dream until I have attempted to rescue my children, only to find myself peering into the cold darkness, searching desperately, then knowing they are gone forever.

I wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, lungs aching, gulping air, and yearning for my children. I try to calm myself. I reassure myself that my children are safe, hugging and kissing each of them until they brush me away. It is at this point in the night, every night, that I am left awake and alone with nothing but my thoughts. Were it not for my inclination toward disturbing, self-defeating ruminations, I might find the time a quiet reprieve. Alas, it is anything but. Instead, I think myself into a deep pit of despair until the night finally swallows me and I sink into another series of unsettling dreams.

I don't have to be Carl Jung or Sigmund Freud to understand the symbolism of my dream. The darkness, the crushing weight of the deep water, the inability to breathe...I get it. What cracks my heart into a million pieces, each night, are the images of my children sinking into the same darkness that threatens to claim me.

I am overwhelmed by guilt. Am I neglecting the needs of my children to nurse myself back to emotional health? Do my children feel emotionally abandoned? What kinds of demons am I unleashing on their vulnerable little souls as they witness their beloved mother teeter on the edge, struggling to fend off the pull of the relentless darkness?

I do what I can. Little things. I try to smile at them whenever possible...and hope it looks genuine. I give them loving touch with hugs, kisses and massages after their baths. I dress a dolly, mend a zipper, stack some blocks and explain quadrilaterals when I am asked. I try to pull them close, rather than push them away. And, I try not to yell.

I hope it is enough.