Sleepless nights remixed

I awake drenched in hot sweat. My heart beats wildly inside my chest. I try to bring my racing thoughts to a pause, but futility abounds.

I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to rest the pounding in my breast, but alas, I can't breathe. Attempts to pacify my nighttime terrors prove a discouraging test.

A couple minutes languish by until I am able to regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up to the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that disfigured my face.

Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks. I quickly look away from the mirror as the wounded child within reaches out to comfort the man that the boy came to be.

Childhood wounds are fresh as the day his fist collided with my nine month old head. No motherly balm applied. Other nourishing comforts denied. Those agonies remain vividly alive inside my mind's eye.

Dazed but not confused, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress the harrowing memories far below consciousness. Under the pillows, I hide my troubled head.

Hauntingly disturbed and wearily wary, sleep remains elusive. I lay there tossing and turning in dread.