What Awaits

What Awaits

The water is never cold. Never does it sweep me away. It is deep. So deep I cannot see the bottom. It is murky. An ocean, a pool, a river, a lake… the water is always the same. There is no land in sight. No way out.

The water itself is not the danger. I never drown or feel sucked under. I’m in control, even able to breath under the surface, but blind to the terrors that surround me. Always fearful, always knowing the pain will come. I don’t know when, how often, or why, but I know I am being hunted.

Sharp teeth rip at my bare skin. Darting towards me, attacking, then disappearing back into the depths. They’re not hungry. They don’t want me as a meal. I don’t know if I’m invading their space, or they simply toy with me. It’s not always teeth. Sometimes it’s a sting. Sometimes it’s a spike driven into me. Whatever it is pierces deep. I never see what attacks me, so I cannot know when they will strike. Where do I swim? Is anywhere safe? I can’t see. The attacks continue.

When I can’t take it anymore, hope stifled and the torture my only companion, my eyes open. Disoriented and afraid, I look for something familiar. I’ve woken from yet another nightmare. I can still feel the needle-like teeth in my skin. My body is soaked. I am desperately trying to return to reality. Today, I zoom in on the blanket I’ve kicked to floor. I know that blanket. The wetness I feel is sweat. My skin bares no marks. I’m awake. I’m in my bed.

I’d like to say the panic turns to relief as I regain consciousness. Today I’ve awoken at dawn. The usual debate now begins. I could start my day, knowing my meager four hours of sleep would keep me in a restless fog, or I could try to nod off again and pray I don’t find myself back in the infested depths. I’m fooling myself. The water is always there.

I pick up my phone and try to make sense of my terror. I type “dream meaning water” into the search bar. The consensus is pretty unanimous that under the water is my subconscious, and above my conscious being. “Dream meaning animal bite”. A different answer for every link. I’ve read all this before, but I scroll through amateur psychologists’ answers anyway, hoping this time the truth reveals itself. I take some comfort in knowing I’m not alone in my search for answers. Hundreds of theories are posted, trying to make sense of these nightly horrors.

I have my theory, but it offers little peace. I once again come to the conclusion that my body will never be my own. I will never feel safe in my own skin. Prone to disease and chronic pain, a new malady is always on the horizon. Unlike the aquatic predators that patrole my sleep, the day will be far less predictable. A stomach bug. Appendicitis. A broken shoulder. Muscle spasms. Degenerative diseases in my bones. Very real, often debilitating conditions appear unexpectedly. Hours in emergency rooms. Countless doctors. I can identify the hospital by the tiling on the waiting room floor.

I don’t fear the waking pain. I resent it. Falling to the floor in agony, tears of hopelessness threaten to fall. I don’t let them. Every new condition takes its toll on my psyche. I no longer remember what it’s like to be truly healthy. To go a day without asking myself “why is this happening?”.

By early evening, all I want is the release of sleep. At least I know what awaits me. At least I know what to fear.