It’s late and I’m notorious for writing ridiculously longwinded posts. But I really want to write about something that’s been bothering me all week, so I’m going to try and say this a succinctly as possible.
On Monday morning I woke up in extreme panic/terror/horror after having the single worst nightmare of my entire life.
Let me say this: I am a dreamer.
By that I mean, when I sleep, I dream. A lot. I have multiple dreams every night and I always remember them.
I dream a lot a lot a lot a lot.
I have very sexy dreams regularly. I have terrible nightmares regularly. I like waking up from the first. I hate waking up from the second.
The point is, when I say I dream a lot, it means that when I say I had the single worst nightmare of my entire life, then it must have been really bad.
I have been dreaming and having really realistic and scary nightmares for 35 years (well 32 or so that I remember), but the one I had on Monday was the worst I’ve ever had.
This is a lot of build up, I know. This is not too succinct, I know.
So here it is. On Monday morning I woke up after dreaming that...
Csilla had been kidnapped.
It was horrifying. I’m about to burst into tears typing this even five days later.
It was. SO. REAL.
I’m seriously having heart palpitations right now just thinking about it.
I’m actually having trouble breathing.
But I have to keep typing because this is really bothering me.
Without getting into my typical longwinded detail the Nightmare:
I’m at a meeting and someone else is minding Csilla. The meeting finishes. I go to pick up Csilla. The child minder says that Csilla’s dad has already picked her up. I freak. Csilla’s dad is not picking her up. There is no Csilla’s dad I say. (Odd, because Csilla does have a dad, my husband. Anyway.) I go straight into frantic panic mode. Typical nightmare stuff. I feel like I’m moving through mud. My mouth is full of cotton. Nobody understands what I am saying. I can’t understand what anybody is saying. Nobody will help me. People are shrugging their shoulders. I’m racing and panicking, but not actually moving. I’m suddenly out of the office building on a busy city street careening off people frantically trying to find somebody to help me find my daughter. I’m screaming at people that my daughter has been kidnapped, but nobody cares and nobody is helping me. One angelic looking young guy with a skateboard is the only person who understands me and I understand him. He comes with me to find help. We end up in a strange little pizzeria where everybody is yelling. I convince someone to give me a phone so I can call 9-1-1. Please help me, I scream. My baby has been kidnapped. An operator answers, and then hangs up. I’m scared and dumbfounded. A strange and spooky man sits in the corner of the pizzeria in a black suit watching me ominously. In my dream I think he’s the grim reaper, but then he stands up and offers to help. In spite of this, I’m scared and panicked by the man as he walks towards me.
And just when I’m about to have a nervous breakdown in my dream and probably a heart attack in real life…
Csilla pounces onto our bed to wake me up.
Thank God for that child.
I wonder if she sensed I needed to be rescued from my sleep and came in to help me. She's amazing that way. I believe it's possible.
Csilla crawled into our bed and cuddled up next to me as my heart raced and I held back tears. I was totally upset and confused and just held her and kissed her as I tried to convince myself that this moment was real and the nightmare wasn’t.
I looked at Balazs and he could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to frighten Csilla. I told him I had a silly dream.
He got up and said he could imagine, but didn’t want to hear about it because he could figure what it was about and didn’t want to think about it.
After a long and wonderful snuggle with Csilla, I got up and went to see my mom upstairs. She met me on the staircase landing halfway down and could tell by the look on my face that something was wrong. I sat down on the landing and burst into tears. I huddled there sobbing as I tried to explain my nightmare.
My mom did a great job of consoling me, but the horrible, terrified feeling I had about losing my baby stuck with me through the entire morning. I’m sure Csilla’s preschool teachers think I’m nuts because, on the verge of tears, I reminded them that I would be there to pick up Csilla. Like a total neurotic, I told them about my dream and said that under no circumstances would anyone else pick up my child.
My anxiety attacks about Csilla’s safety that morning only subsided slightly after a long lunch and a nice calming chat with my new friend Linda.
By Monday afternoon, I was pretty much okay, having put it out of my mind.
By Monday evening, I posted this about Csilla’s birthday party. Photos and all. I guess I’d convinced myself not to worry, even though I’m very concerned about weirdos and pedophiles and creeps and monsters who might be interested in our darling Csilla’s photo.
I’m trying not to let my fears control my life. I genuinely admire the fearlessness of other moms who post photos of their kids. I am trying to be brave.
There was an unnerving comment on one of my next posts.
From a man, in Portugal, who hosts a blog that pays tribute to children who have been abducted and murdered.
I don’t know why he ended up on my blog the same night after I had a horrifyingly realistic dream about our beautiful daughter being kidnapped.
I’m really really really unnerved by this coincidence. To the point where I am considering shutting down this blog all together.
My mother has this creepy habit of having premonition-type dreams. She dreams things, and then they happen.
I get deja-vu a lot. I believe this happens when my physical reality catches up with what my soul already knows.
I don’t want this to be true of the nightmare I had on Monday, but I am genuinely frightened.
Lately I have been doing more yoga and meditation. I’ve been reading Oprah’s book club selection A New Earth. I’ve been trying to ask the universe about my soul’s purpose.
And this is what the universe comes up with?
A nightmare about my daughter’s kidnapping and an unexpectedly random comment from a man half way around the world who hosts a blog about children who have been kidnapped?
I checked sitemeter and it looks like the man came to my blog via my blogger profile. I would have been relieved if he had come via a goggle search for pedophiles, because I’ve posted about that before.
But he didn’t. It was random.
I don’t like random.
I am unnerved by random.
I almost want the man to post again to explain himself. To explain what led him to my blog. But I don’t want to invite his attention. I’m afraid of what his attention might bring.
I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’ve slept terribly all week.
So much for succinct.
I suck at succinct.
Am I crazy? Should I be worried? Should I pull down the photos I’ve posted of Csilla? Am I being paranoid? Is my own paranoia causing the nightmares?
I’m thinking of making my blog password protected so I can sleep better at night.