The present has died too

Image source : fuckyeahnigtmares.tumblr.com
Image source : fuckyeahnigtmares.tumblr.com

Nightmares. Evil, lurking, dark. And changed. It’s no longer just a rewind. Not enough with devouring the past, it’s planning to gobble down the present. To infest it, to make it as miserable as the past. What’s scary is that it’s both predictable and unpredictable. Predictable because they occur with frightening regularity. And unpredictable because it’s not known how scary it can get. They’ve changed, and they might change again. It’s no longer a repeat of the past, it now integrates the present. Haunting dreams, where he is seen under the bed, or behind the door. And sleep vanishes, replaced by a massive headache that takes away present reality and brings in the miserable past. Pain both physical and mental. So deep, so intense it threatens to rip everything apart – both from the inside and outside. What a relief it would be to bang the head against the wall or cut out the innards with a sharp knife. And there is no respite on coming back to the present. Because the mind is convinced what it dreamt was true. Wild dashing about – each nook and cranny of the room explored, the heart skipping a beat just before the hand slowly yet suddenly draws away the curtain or the eyes peer under the bed – and then beating a little fast as if expecting someone standing behind, arm outstretched. It dulls slowly, the pain. The haze clears. It’s like waking up the morning after an alcohol binge, and not knowing how you got onto the floor or why your head is going thud, thud, thud. Like someone banging an iceaxe against the skull. And the mind a jumble of images, trying to regain control of the ability to think what you want to think.

Sleep is a lost cause now. Sit against the wall, head in hands. Hold back the tears and tell no one, because weakness is death.

 

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4 thoughts on “The present has died too

  1. How poignant and even frightening … but, of course, very well written. It reminds me a bit of something I wrote a couple of years back if I might be so bold (but, then, you can always nix the offering, too! LOL) I called it “The Lunatic Rave”

    Indeed, have ten thousand fallen down all around,
    While I myself lie prostrate on blood-soaked ground;
    One misstep following another, I fell without sound;
    Darkness draws near ~ pain and suffering abound.

    And, lo, does the deadly pestilence stalk at night,
    And terror in the darkness that no man can fight!
    Behold, the pale horseman with his quiver of plight,
    Arrows striking the very sun to blacken all light!

    Listen! Here is a mournful sound without harmony
    Rising from unknown tombs in earth and sea!
    Dead souls given voice in the council of eternity,
    To clamor for justice denied heartless cruelty!

    And now is this high refuge become my low grave?
    And hope no longer lives there is Someone to save?
    Must I, too, await relief but in death’s cold wave
    When finally does Mercy silence the lunatic rave?

    JDN

    Like

    1. Thank you.
      Frightening it is, yes. I have recently researched on the subject of ‘traumas after a life-changing experience’, with special focus on RTS (Rape Trauma Syndrome). I have read harrowing stories, have heard frightening accounts of people and seen them degenerate into just a whisper of what they were. The amazing thing is, you won’t know these people if you met them on the streets and in your daily life otherwise. They hide their demons well.

      The poem you wrote is beautiful, and expresses the pain, confusion and terror in a very stirring manner. Thank you for deeming me worthy of its sharing.

      Like

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