Last night, I dreamed I was dying from cancer. I was in hospice care. I was not old.
I can’t control my mind when I sleep, and I cannot blame sleeping aids for the sheer number of crazy dreams I had last night all centered around dying of cancer.
I woke up tense and tired this morning.
I woke up wanting to go back to bed with the covers over my head.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand my lot in life. I do. I understand I have cancer. I’m still angry and sad I have breast cancer. I rage, sometimes, at the fates that I, and others, are diagnosed with breast cancer in our thirties. But, I understand I cannot spend my life worrying it’s going to come back. It’s unproductive. It hurts me. It won’t change things.
If it’s my time, it’s my time.
But, my dreams don’t have to be filled with the horrors of my deepest fears.
I can’t control them.
I can’t stop them.
All I can do is wake up from them, like I did this morning.
I feel hollow.
At least I didn’t wake up in a panic attack. Those, thankfully, haven’t happened in months.
The goal is to get through this day so I can go home and sleep.
Hopefully, tonight, my dreams are peaceful.
That would be nice.