Just part of the game. Your body can be at ease and your mind can be placid as a lake when you arrive in bed and you can still wake straining to wake, shouting and tossing and unsure where you are. It's normal.
Sig never remembers me waking that way. Generally. He's so forgiving. Also, too sleepbrained to register it happening. He'll check on me, ask what it is, then entwine his fingers with mine, and it's okay, and he's out. It's enviable.
Me, it'll take twenty, thirty minutes to unclench, get my heart rate normal, ease the muscles. Thirty minutes at least, if I decide to write the offending 'mare up in the journals. A trip to the toilet. Some breathing exercises. Once all the thoughts are arrayed and the thing examined, it's fine. I can sleep again.
But it's hard to remember life before Sig was there. The nightmares were a facet of my Life Before, living & sleeping alone, years at a stretch. Then it was just get up. Do some exercises. Take a night ride on the bike. Write it all out. Read the old journals. Then stay awake until whenever. Sometimes all night, sometimes until work the next day. Rest was a thing that existed in parings, trimmings, snippets.
Today sleep isn't the enemy. My subconscious isn't the enemy. There is no enemy. "Enemy" was only a game my brain was playing with my instincts, a preparedness drill...
It's okay, buddy. You got out.
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