NIGHTMARES
ANNA
It had only been a week since I had lost Marco, but it seemed like a lifetime. My sadness slowly gave way to despair and madness. I hated this lonely house. His absence enraged me. I despised how he made me feel—alone, hopeless, and like a ghost of the vibrant woman I once was.
People claimed I experienced panic attacks on the days when my body turned into an icy fire. Seeing people might be beneficial to me, but what would I do when I remain alone? Who was I going to call? That was exactly how I felt. I sensed panic, but no one was there to save me from my abyss.
My despair was consuming me from the inside out. I could not breathe or live. It was simply there, grabbing hold of my spirit with its claws and wounding my already frail heart.
People would find a method or a cause to get out of bed and fight despair; sometimes they did it for a loved one who was still in their lives, or perhaps it was just for tomorrow. I, however, lacked somebody like that. My entire universe had been Marco, and when that world fell apart, so did mine.
I gave up asking myself “why” all the time. Anyhow, nobody was responding to my questions. I’ve learnt that if you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will since I went so far into hell. Everything was a battle for survival, and I was not through. Would I ever?
The constant poison that was in my head destroyed all that was still normal in my soul. It felt as though I was the only one trying to find my way back to the shore’s safety while swimming in a sea of hopelessness. I did not know when daytime or nighttime would arrive. I only knew that at home, I felt safe. What I needed right now—peace, love, and understanding—might never arrive. I also needed someone who could help me rediscover the joy of life.
I was simply there in the pit of sorrow that was my home, surrounded by all of his memories, his smell, and everything else. My only decorations were the nail traces I left on the walls of the entire house, which were screaming with all of my suffering. This hollow had now become my universe.
I didn’t think there was an afterlife, but I had to now. Every day and night, I begged God to bring us together again and extend our time together in the next world. But until that point, all I could do was sink deeper and deeper into despair, my sorrow rolling like the sand on a windy beach.
I had lost it. A weak being, a poor echo of the powerful woman I once was. Even though I knew that there might be some relief at the end of this terrifying tunnel I had built for myself, I had no desire to get there. I wished to continue managing my suffering in the way I knew best.
Something incredibly unusual occurred this night. I hadn’t left the house in three weeks, but what I saw at night was something I would never forget. Since Marco passed away, all of my dreams have been empty spaces that would resemble labyrinths and from which I could not escape.
But starting with this night, nightmares became a bothersome reality. In my dream, Mrs. Mallory, a kind neighbor who lived close to my home, was chasing after her small dog when it got struck by lightning just as she was about to catch it and perished.
I awoke sweating and terrified. With each beat, my racing heart caused me to pant. I took a few deep breaths and counted from one to ten to unwind. It was ineffective. I went downstairs to the kitchen because I needed a glass of cold water.
Even my own home felt so foreign to me right now. It was the early hours of the morning. This was how my entire week had gone. I would sleep in numbness and then be awakened by nightmares. I was unsure of their origin.
I drank my water and went upstairs to resume my horrific night. Just like in my dream, a storm with thunder and lightning began while I was lying in bed. I jumped when I heard some shouts and a hushed sound, but I was too paralyzed to go to investigate. Twists and turns, screams, and sobs filled the night.
The following day was the same as the others. I felt as though I would spend the rest of my life weeping and honoring his memory, and that each night I would be by myself. What I had once valued was now simply a memory, a shadow that lingered in the depths of my mind.
The dreams persisted every night, making me feel as though I could pass out from the pain in my head. I desperately tried to wake up and clung to all I had in reality. I screamed for people with names I didn’t even recognize to come and save me, but there was no one there to help; all I could see was a vast nothingness that was twisting me like a rag doll into a terrifying maze. Every night was the same…
The mornings kept coming and time seemed to fly by. I didn’t keep track of the passing hours, but I had the impression that I was suffocating in an hourglass as I waved and screamed for help. But nobody was there, because I sent everyone away.
Even though I was suffering and not even half the person I once was, his parents never accepted me as their daughter-in-law and still didn’t give a damn. After they laid their son to rest, they immediately moved to Italy, leaving me lonely.
Emily was continually trying to find me and calling me, but the problem was that I never answered. Well, that wasn’t my problem; it was hers.
I adjusted the curtain today. My solitude was like a flower in blossom in the spring by this point, four weeks in. Through the small and timid crack, the sun pierced directly into my long, asleep eyes. They ached so badly that it made my heart race. It filled my head with dense gray clouds that prevented the light from penetrating despite how bright it was.
I was not yet prepared to face the world that was waiting for me outside. When did it become so unimportant? The same universe that stole Marco away from me also wanted to help me heal. The same world that built a wall of suffering and left me helpless, clinging to it with no help, leaving me with the choice to either climb it higher and escape the suffering or fall off it straight into the jaws of despair.
It was a one-way trip to hell, and there were particular seats set out for me. I was already mentally worn out before the formal period of mourning had started. My soul felt like it was being caged by it. One person could only release and retrieve it, and since that person was no longer alive, I was not eligible for this therapy.