Screaming; I woke myself up screaming.
I never used to, this is new, new these past few months; this makes three times now I’ve woken myself up by screaming. Full on screaming.
I’m alone. Alone in the attic of an empty house, in the dark.
It wasn’t a nightmare I woke up from, not even a dream. Sometimes I wake up screaming, as if someone really is there, in the room, over me. I wake up screaming and in waking see there’s no one, I’m safe. The last two times, someone’s always called from the next room, concerned, am I ok, yes I’m ok. The last two times I lay back and felt daft, waited for my body to stop shuddering with heartbeats.
This time I woke with a scream, and I was alone, and no one called, and I was afraid. That silly childish fear that there are monsters in the dark, that there’s a cruel stranger standing over your bed. That chill between your shoulder blades. I told myself it was silly, told myself it was childish, and as I so often do I lay down wishing I slept beside someone.
I do wake in the night – or I do now, these past few months. And I’m dreaming a lot about Phil, probably because I’m thinking a lot about Phil, probably because I miss him so, so much. So I wake, and I think about him, and how I miss him so, so much.
I lay down wishing I had someone to hold and someone to briefly grieve with, again. Wishing I slept beside someone, who could spoon me and soothe me, assure me that I’m not alone and lie to me that I’m safe.