Now that my waking head seems to be in a somewhat better place (I think), my sleeping head is taking up the slack by maintaining a healthy level of nocturnal turmoil and sorrow.
Dreams. All manner of bad, sad, scary and depressing ones, all night long. And it's been going on for about a week. I wake up so tired, what with having no respite from my sorrow. I've become very used to being able to escape the pain by closing my eyes at night - I've had a year's worth of protection from reality which has been much needed and immensely therapeutic. I had a bout of nightmares a few months ago, but they disappeared after a few days.
I'm hoping that's what will happen this time too.
The dreams aren't Halloween II style gory, but they're much more disturbing to me because they're so real. I wake up wanting and expecting relief and I find that I'm still living a nightmare - only one that makes slightly more sense.
Last night's was about a charity golf tournament being held for Thomas by my Dad's high school alumni association. I thought it was very sweet of them, but I was confused. The funds were going towards the search effort - but I knew Thomas wasn't lost, just gone. Dead.
I didn't quite know how to tell them, however, because they were so Earnest. And then, of course, I started getting confused and forgetting that he wasn't dead. I'd think there was hope, and then remember and be devastated all over again.
See? Waking up after something like that is pretty fucking depressing.
The other thing that's depressing? My Beloved repeatedly coming in to show me pictures of me when I was fatter. He's a good heart - I know the poor boy thinks he's helping.
And really, it's my fault. I said that I don't see a huge difference yet and he's desperately trying to prove me wrong, evidently by hunting down the fattest me he can find.
Okay, I think the cat just farted. It's very clearly time for bed.
Sweet dreams. I hope...