I’ve been thinking about it this morning. I got to sleep late but I slept really well (so well, in fact, that I missed my alarm… but I’m still too sick to go into the office, so I could start working from home immediately without the commute).
And my dream was… a strange dream. I would almost have called it a nightmare, one of those that involve my parents by proxy, but for some reason I took charge in the dream. While it was still kind of the material that fuels thriller movies, I felt… better. And assertive. And in charge. And man, did I lay the smackdown (verbally and, in the end, situationally) on my father’s proxy.
I’ve not had dreams like that before.
So I started thinking about why the bed wedge is possibly helping out with the dreams as well.
It probably comes back to lying flat on my back. When I lie down all the way, I admit the first thing that comes to mind is the night when my father strangled me. Fun, eh? It’s not PTSD, it’s just a very strong memory. It doesn’t intrude, it’s just… there. Okay, maybe it intrudes. Meh. Damn it, it’s probably a little tiny bit of PTSD. Goddamn it.
Anyways, such thoughts have become a normal routine for me, for years in fact. I think almost two decades of that by now.
But when I sleep on the bed wedge I don’t think about that, probably because my head and shoulders and back are elevated, so that if anything does happen, I’m more ready for it. Or something.
Or perhaps I just didn’t sleep that way before, so the act itself breaks some patterns.
I do definitely feel much more secure sleeping this way, outside of the whole memory-of-strangulation thing. It’s a little strange.
I’m also thinking about the first time I slept in a dorm room, and primary to the strangulation memory was the memory of my father pacing back and forth outside my bedroom, ready to break through and scream and possibly beat me about something. At any time. Any time.
It took a long time to break the pattern, mostly because after a while you realize it’s not going to happen because the dorm room isn’t home and the door is also closed (my father forced me to keep my door open; it’s probably why I tend to consider my bedroom the safest part of anywhere I live, because these days I can keep the door closed).
Anyhoo. Such are my thoughts on the bed wedge. Also it’s nice to sit up against (when it’s in its tall setting) when working from home in bed. I’m feeling better, but I’m not going to be stupid and try to push it too hard. I figure I’ll be ready to go into the office soon—maybe even tomorrow! Although I definitely have to pack a lunch for that day. My stomach will not be ready for greasy food for a while.