Sleepless Hope

So this past week I had a dreadful episode of insomnia. It all began with being in an uncomfortable sleeping environment for far too long, and then I had one too many cups of coffee at the wrong time of the day. For six days, I could not sleep. On that sixth day my anxiety got the best of me and I was just having panic attack, after panic attack. It clouded my judgment, and frightened me to my very core. I began to lose hope, and actually convinced myself that it was all over for me. Then I went to bed, and suddenly had the best sleep ever. As if my body just fell into a temporary coma. The dreams I had that night were lucid and breathtaking. Still, when I woke I felt tormented by a slight bit of grogginess and anxiety, for I only got about seven hours of sleep. I tried to get some more rest, sacrificing everything in the process, but I was unsuccessful. Again, panic started to set in. I went for a walk, as I started to question everything in my life once more. I thought about quitting on my novel, I thought about giving up. But then I had a vision. I saw my character Brigid approaching me from out of the woods that flanked the road I was on. She rode astride her beautiful spotted Gypsy Vanner, and she wore upon her face her war paint. I saw her draw a sword, and with a sense of nagging guilt I lowered my eyes. She stopped before me. She tucked the point of the blade under my chin, and lifted my eyes back to her. With intensity in her visage, she looked down at me and simply nodded, as if to tell me to buck up... As though to remind me who I really am. In this image that I have created, I saw that I was strong as her, as proud as her, and as fierce. Some may laugh at the idea of a man finding strength in a woman, especially an imaginary one. But I have learned over the years that there is none as powerful as the Goddess, and there is nothing stronger than the will of a man who can dream of such a creature. By the illusions built of man by this power-over society, I have somehow fallen victim to the lies, and allowed myself to believe that I was weak. She came to me to remind me that I am not. She came to show me that the world is sick, and I have been temporarily effected by the disease. She came to tell me to get back to work now, and the sleep will come. I know now that I can overcome my anxiety and become yet again the man I once was long before this sickness had ever found me. The book is coming, and the world will what was lost. There is still hope.


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