When Nightmares are Reality

I had a dream that, at first, was so real, I nearly believed it to be true. We were at the beach. I was healthy, playing with the kids, running around, laughing, free of pain and everyone was smiling. My mind then whispered, "This is a lie. You need to wake up." In the dream, a tidal wave filled with pain washed over me. It tore away the happy moment, the laughter, and the smiles. Then everything went black, cold, and I was in gut wrenching pain.

I woke up drenched in sweat and found that the tidal wave was real. I was in pain, a lot of pain. And that pain was washing over me like a tsunami.

That dream is my reality.

Dreams are, very rarely, reality. Unless they're nightmares.

I keep hoping and praying that this is all in my head.  That this is just a nightmare. That this is psychosomatic, that this really isn't happening. 

But I know it is real. 

It is happening.

I am not making this up in my head.

I'm certainly not dreaming it. 

Illness of any sort will have an effect on any person and any family. In an autism family, like mine, I think it's harder. We already feel like we've been running a marathon for years that is never ending. The finish line, as soon as it's in view, recedes back into the distance (thanks, regression, you're an asshole). Throw some illness in there and all sorts of things pop up. Like Morgan perservating on the idea of me dying, and him scratching his head (new stim) until it bleeds. Then Bay had a potty accident at school for the first time the other day and who has been exceptionally sensitive lately. 

They are both terrified and I can't blame them. Their mom isn't their usual mom right now.

My biggest fear is not being able to take care of my children.

When we noticed autism in Morgan, one of the first things I remembered thinking is, "I can't die. I can never die because no one will be able to take care of him the way I do." I find this sentiment to be true for a lot of special needs families. I try not to think about it, but it's always there. 

That dream was easy to interpret for me. This pain washes over me in waves, stealing moments that should be, by all rights, mine to enjoy. It knocks me down, tears everything apart, and even knocks me out. It's drowning me. 

This is scary. 

I am trying to be so damn brave in front of the kids. To not break down. But that is incredibly hard when I can't escape my own body.

*Editor's note... I promise sometime soon I will get back to talking about autism. I swear. It's just that right now, this is what is going on in our life as a family and it's the vortex that sucks everything in. This blog is also my place to vent. I won't make apologies for that. 

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