erynn: Gaelic merman image (dreaming owl)
I woke up several times last night from nightmares, the worst of which involved a friend's suicide. The incident was similar to something that actually happened, but with another person, and it was utterly senseless. That's always a hard thing to wake up to, not knowing for the first few minutes what's real and what isn't. Nightmares of pursuit, of falling, of other things, they're a lot easier to process because waking up in your bed means they cannot possibly have happened. Things like that, though, dig their claws into the psyche and you don't have an immediate way of knowing they're not true unless and until you remember exactly where and when you are. Even then, one never knows if it was some kind of premonition, and that's the worst thought of all.

If you want to know why I find it difficult to sleep and am always complaining of the insomnigrackles, this is one of the reasons. Waking up with a half-formed scream in your mouth, sweating, panting, heart galloping - this is not in any way happymaking. It makes for a lousy start to the day, particularly when the physical bits aren't working properly anyway. Waking in physical pain tends only to add to the unnerving sense of reality of so many of them.

A lot of my earlier poems deal with dreams and nightmares. The images are so vivid that it's often not hard to write poetry around them. It's not the sort of lyrical thing that makes people feel good, but it can be powerful. It can make your skin crawl, make your hair stand on end. Writing these things down might exorcize them or it might intensify them, and it's hard to know until you actually take that step. Writing and poetry can be healing activities, but so often they're the knife that lances the horror enough so that it can drain away. It's not painless. Life might be easier if it were.


erynn: Gaelic merman image (Default)

September 2013



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