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I am not known for having trouble sleeping. Not in the way I am "known" for being an alarmist bundle of stress, or for having headaches or a stuffy nose. Quite the opposite, I am considered a "power sleeper" and can fall asleep easily and stay asleep throughout much noise and activity. Furthermore, while I'm not the cheeriest riser, I am capable of getting up when I need to. All of this is true, until it isn't.

Sometimes, sleep fails me. Or, who knows, maybe I fail sleep. But it's supposed to be a balm, a restorative. It knits up the raveled sleeve of care. Sleep is where you can hide until the bad things are burned away by the rising sun. Sleep is BFF with the terms "good" and "night." Except when it isn't. That's when sleep stops being a safe place, somewhere comforting to go when the waking world is troublesome. The bad things follow you there, and suddenly realize that they can reach you! They show you gruesome, horrifying things, and try to convince you that this is the world that is real.

I have anxiety dreams, usually about work or relationships. In those dreams, the bosses shout, the emails incessantly clog the inbox and the old friends lurk with constant reminders of how you failed them. These are pretty typical and straightforward. Most people I know have these, at least sometimes.

Then there are the dreams with recurring themes: I'm back in my middle school or high school -- though I'm a grown-up with several degrees -- and can't remember my locker combination and never show up for algebra class. These are common, though they often end with my realizing I don't have to do this anymore. Or the dreams set in the house I grew up in, the one my father sold after I graduated from college. I'm sure these dreams are ripe with symbolism and just begging for interpretation. But I don't think I want to know. Will it make a difference?

Finally the dreams full of violence, loss, and death. Loved ones hurl vitriol at me, or people are injured or killed, usually covered with gore. Sometimes there is just the implied threat of violence: someone is hiding to attack, and I search the house, knife in hand, knowing his discovery is inevitable.

Always these dreams wake me. Always. Sometimes I know I am dreaming, sometimes I don't. Worse, though, is not being able to go back to sleep after. That sanctuary is defiled, no longer safe, and instead I lie awake in the dark, hoping I'll forget and drift off again. Sometimes this takes hours. In the morning, I wake up unsettled. I'm tired, and my head can easily recall the terrible snapshots it created. And that is the worst part! This is not some virus, some disease that has invaded to sicken me. These things come from within, and I am not even safe in my own head.

I need sleep desperately. I thrive on 8-9 hours, and can be thrown off by even an hour's deficit. It can take several days until I'm back on my "power sleeper" routine, when the rest finally feels like resting. Those are bleak days, full of overcast skies and chill.