I had a horrible nightmare last night. It was so bad and so realistic that I don’t even want to write about it on here. I can still see everything. Most of my dreams are really patchy, but this one was vivid, like every second was a replay of real life.
I woke up from the dream freaking out. I thought it was real. I couldn’t get it out of my head, couldn’t remember if I had been in bed the whole night or if the dream had actually happened.
I was at Lil Chip’s house. We had a pretty bad argument last night involving an abused dog and his heartless persona. Maybe I’ll get into that later in another post, but just know things had been tight beforehand. We had made up though, so I went to stay with him like I had been planning.
Normally when I have nightmares I don’t wake him up. I mean they happen a lot, and some nights I wake up multiple times from different dreams. I don’t want to annoy him by always waking him early in the morning because of dreams, but last night was so frightening I had to wake him up.
I wish I hadn’t.
I was shaking, and he barely acknowledged that anything was wrong. I told him the dream was awful, and he just said it was all in my head and it couldn’t hurt me. Well.. it was hurting me right then, pretty badly actually.
He told me to go back to sleep, and I told him I couldn’t because I was scared the dream would come back. He said “so what if it comes back? It’s just a dream. It isn’t real. It can’t hurt you.”
Thanks for that…
I knew it was pointless to try and sleep, so I just lay there trying to forget my minds images, but they kept replaying over and over and over. I felt my breathing quicken and I knew I was about to have a panic attack. I tried to control it, tried to get a hold on it, but I couldn’t.
“G,” Lil Chip says, voice raised and harsh as I start to breath heavily. “G stop it.”
I can not stop it. I’m trying, but I can’t.
Lil chip lowers his voice, and then raises it again. He sounds annoyed. He wants me to stop. He tells me I’m okay and it’s all in my head and that I need to get a grip on myself.
That doesn’t help.
“You are not having a panic attack right now,” he says even though I obviously am. I don’t know if he thought saying that would convince my brain to calm down, or if he genuinely didn’t believe I was having an attack.
He kept barking orders at me. “Calm down. Breathe. Get a grip on yourself. Take back control. It isn’t real. You’re fine.”
I couldn’t understand why he was saying these things to me. Why he was acting like everything was my fault. He kept telling me to control myself, and I was really trying, but honestly that only made things worse.
He told me that it was in my head, and that I needed to stop letting it control me. He said “you’re stronger than that.” He said it only had power because I was giving it power. He told me to calm down again.
I couldn’t calm down. I think he was annoyed. He leaned over me and got in my face. “G.” Not a yell, but harsh. It scared me. I curled up into a ball crying.
“You don’t get to run away from me.”
Why not? Why can’t I? The only thing I wanted in that moment was to be away from you. You were not helping me. You didn’t seem to care. You were scaring me, and making me feel awful, making me feel like this was all my fault and that I was weak and dumb for letting this affect me.
You made obnoxiously large breaths trying to get me to breathe. I felt them on my neck. I was trying, but I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t get air.
“You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep doing that. You’re going to make yourself pass out.” Well naw dip Sherlock. You think that’s what I want? You think I don’t realize that? You think that if I could just stop the panic attack and breathe normally and not feel like my chest is tightening and i’m about to die I would have already done it?
I thought you knew me better than this. I thought you understood my mental health better than this. Yes i’m doing better, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone for good, doesn’t mean I won’t have bad moments.
Thanks for making my panic attack worse. Thanks for making me feel like a worthless weak bitch. Thanks for getting harsh when I needed you to be tender.
Sorry for waking you up. Next time I wont.
Wishing you luck, because you obviously need it.