Storm on the North Sea

If I could think at this hour, I might have something profound to say. As it is, I simply want to wake up with you, have some coffee, and listen to the small, night sounds that are the unicorn meat eating cats way of being communal with me. Cats are pre-dawn feeders primarily, and the small crunches, as they eat, are counterpointed by the sound of the clock on the dresser. I hate those digital clocks...I like one with hands that makes a small, ticking sound.

And I desperately need a quiet morning for a change. The past few days, I have woken from nightmares, some remembered, some not. Yesterday, I had to call my therapist, instead of just texting him. Then my sponsor, and a friend...none of it could keep me from crashing onto the rocks like some lost wave. There are no sea birds on that ocean, and no life swimming below, just the everlasting deep. I tried to carry on my morning, and write my blog, and my delusional thinking and hallucinations followed me there. My shrink is in India.

Life turns into one slow, dragging step after another. I have to get up. I have to do certain tasks that day. Putting one foot in front of the other, turns into more than the cliched herculean problem. I am really moving underwater, torn from the rocks and shore, again and again. I perform my tasks, in what shape does not matter. I haven't had a shower in four days. I cannot bring myself to the effort it takes to groom, and be clean. I can't concentrate that much.

Now, I am the only sea bird alive on the rocks...I get up to shake the nest, tidying here and there, so I can enclose myself against the writhing waves below. You may get a laugh out of this, but the surest way to calm myself is to clean the apartment as best I can, and watch the Harry Potter series, one after the other. It is a continuity; it is reality, surrounded by the memories of Christmases past, spent with the dearest of friends.

It is a well-ordered and known universe. I can hold it at arm's length, and examine it. That makes it unlike my reality, which is seething and swirling around me. But if I pay enough attention to make the time pass, then the real world ceases to move quite so much. There is a small break in the storm, and I start climbing.

Last night, no nightmares to wake from. Not that I remember, just dreams that vaguely bother me, and reflect reality. I dreamed of a place in England that I saw on the computer...a vast estate, complete with follies, an owlry, and a dovecote. That is reality. The swirling sea is not. Not outwardly, anyway. I can climb away from the nightmares, and the storm.

Today, I may even take a shower.