It’s 3 AM — The Witching Hour
Thoughts Beyond Your Dreams
It’s 3:00 AM. Sleep eludes me once again. Regularly, I awake at this hour. Thoughts racing ahead of my body. No longer do I toss and turn. I hop out of bed and wander down the hall to my beloved magic potion. Slowly, drip by drip, the chosen mug fills with the aromas of a new day starting.
I grab my favorite pen and my colorful journal and begin. Three pages of unconscious thoughts flow down my arm to my fingertips. They land on the paper. The smooth rhythm of loops form words and morph the blank, stark white to a blend of black and white patterns like the beat of my heart.
My witching hour ritual carries me through my day. It has for thirty years. The glaring words that affirm who I am. All of me. Secrets held tightly within the bounds of the pages. The place that knows me best.
Facing the Nightmare
Why it started is beyond my earthly comprehension. In my teenage years, the reoccurring nightmare began. The soul jarring witching hour message continued into my adulthood. At least, twice a month, my sleep would stop dead from the glare of a green-faced monster. Under the neon veil was the face of my childhood tormentor. As I sat cowered in the corner, wishing for a place to feel safe. Home was not it.
