Reformed Sleepwalker

Confessions of a Woken Somnambulist

The Storm Broke and I awoke

I am a somnambulist. It's been a while since I last sleepwalked. I have woken in the kitchen completely dressed and trying to remember where I was with no chemical agents influencing my memory. Fortunately, I don't sleep soundly so I've never gotten further than the kitchen. I'm told I also talk in my sleep.

I was also a sleepwalker in the figurative sense. I was sleepwalking through life with ideas but not much direction. It was like being on a street with weather worn lines. I didn't really know or want to think about it. I'm not sleepwalking any longer.

The world changed a week ago. It's changed so many times before. Lives have been destroyed, countries shredded (I promise this gets less apocalypty) and I reacted with detachment. Even when it touched my life, I didn't face it because I was afraid.

It didn't feel real to me and that protected me from feeling the hits. I guess maybe it was a coping mechanism. I thought I couldn't change anything then it happened. I was faced with a monster and a situation that I couldn't live with and I knew I couldn't live with myself if I didn't fight. I was ignited.

Then #darkTuesday hit and I have never been so cold in my life. I couldn't stop shaking. I was physically ill, spiritually devastated. The hit hurt.

There is no going back to wandering through life. I'm determined. I know who I am. Surrealist, writer, loud mouth (so I've been told). I know what I value. Freedom, peace, hope. I was someone that I don't respect as much anymore. I won't go back. I will fight.