Coffee Sleeps

Really Real Trauma Post

TW: Hints towards sexual assault but it’s not directly mentioned.  Talk of death and life saving measures that don’t work, specifics about Parker’s death.

Some people may want to skip this one.

I didn’t sleep for shit last night.

I drank coffee way too late in the day, which normally won’t bother me as much, except I didn’t take into account the fact that I haven’t really been drinking much coffee this week.

So, an evening latte created a sleepless anxious night, and my sleep was a nightmare and trauma filled wasteland in the strangest sort of way.

I’m still sitting here shaking off the after effects of these dreams.  Reminding myself they were only dreams while sitting in a silent house, one of the most peaceful houses I’ve ever had the opportunity to spend time in.  That makes these trauma dreams even harder to deal with.

One of the dreams was a cop reality show where all of the criminals were named Kavanaugh and I kept ending up alone with them.  I’m not trying to get political here, but the dream did its own suggesting of what was going to happen next and each time I woke up before dozing back off into another scenario in the same dream.  It was horrible and surreal and freaky and just … off.  I laid awake for awhile after that.

In another dream I was handed a body and told I should save it if I could but I already knew it was too late because I know what skin feels like, that temperature that isn’t cold but isn’t warm enough.  I didn’t try chest compressions on the body because I knew.  But then I somehow knew it was a dream and wondered why I was dreaming this, because it seemed like such a strange dream to have.  And then I saw Parker on the bed the morning she died.  And in less of a dream and more of a flashback I remember 911 telling me I needed to do chest compressions, and me knowing it was far too late for that.  But I was so afraid that if I didn’t listen they’d say I didn’t do everything.

Second Trigger Warning . . . .details given below.











On very little sleep, in a half awake, half asleep state, I’m half dreaming, half remembering what happened that morning as I pulled her off the bed to get her onto a hard surface like they told me to.  I can still feel her sternum under my hands.

I knew it was too late by the feeling of her skin.

I knew she didn’t feel it when her bone cracked under the pressure.  I still hear that sound in my ear though.  A sound I can still feel.

I don’t think about it as often now.  Not as many things trigger that memory.  Mostly, I just go about my day, not even remembering that at one point in time, I pulled a dead body off a bed, to try and save a life that was already long gone.

These are the things that nurses and doctors and war vets learn to just put behind them.  I guess in a way I have too, but have I really.

If I had put it behind me, would I be sitting in one of the most peaceful houses I know, trying to cry silently so I don’t wake the baby?

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