If you don't see me today, it's because I died in my dream.

The last shot in last night’s nightmare was me looking at my face in the mirror. My skin was blotchy and red from the stinging poison. I would never see my daughter again or my husband. I possessed a great calmness while I said goodbye to myself, knowing that I was about to die.

Just typing those words brings the emotion back into my throat from the pit of my stomach. I woke up with sense of despair that was very deep. I let a quiet but desperate “No…” escape my lips. “Not today. Not again,” I thought. I hit the snooze button again and again and again, each time trying to erase some of that nightmare, to record over it with another one. But it stays with me, stuck to my mind, unable to be shaken off.

I was reading a book on my walk into work that stated, “Think of how our bodies respond to the images we hold in our minds. It appears that the nervous system can’t tell the difference between a well-imagined thought and reality.” My nightmares impact my day, I’ve always know that. But until now I was blaming my brain for letting them. Maybe there’s a physical, nervous response that my brain can’t control. Instead of accepting the guilt for my terrifying subconscious, maybe I should recognize this as a problem and see what steps I can take to control it.

Until then I’m never going to sleep again.