Weeping Nymph - Jean-Jacques Henner
There are nights when I try to sleep, and all I see behind my closed eyes are the awful things that have happened - even if I didn't really see them happen. Tonight, it's the writhing, agonized convulsions of the injured squirrel in the road I saw on the way to work the other day. It's what Trey must have looked like, after the stray piece of metal sliced into his head before he launched through the windshield and landed far from most of his car. It's what Caleb must have looked like inside the makeshift tent with the gas line from his stove tucked inside. It's what Carrie looked like in her coffin, the livid purple mark on her forehead where she must have hit her head when she collapsed and died.
There are times when it's not good to have a vivid imagination, when I am sorry I spent so many years processing accident and autopsy pictures. when I need pictures of my friends nearby, when I wish I had a list of good thoughts to turn to. There was a list of compliments from friends, which in moments of depression and loneliness I would read over. It was on the laptop that crashed, and may yet be recovered. There is a photo Ferris wheel by my bed, full of pictures of me with various friends and family members, to remind me that I am loved, that I am not truly alone.
I'm sure that part of my insomnia is due to my being unable to shut my mind off, to redirect the negative without getting up and doing something. I am sometimes afraid of what might appear in my dreams, on nights like this. If my waking thoughts are of pain, loss, and death, how much worse will it get in my dreams?