The Depths of Illness - Disorientation

One night in 2008, I awoke in a cold sweat.  I laid still, unsure of where I was, adjusting to my surroundings.  I sensed that there was someone, a man, sleeping in the bed next to me – but I couldn’t remember why I was sleeping in the bed next to another man.  I didn’t recognize the room I was in – only that the room was familiar.  I wondered if it was a hotel room, if I was on a job installing Solar Panels with Carter and for some reason we only managed to get a room with a single queen sized bed.  I wondered if it was Dan, a childhood friend, if we were traveling somewhere.  I wondered if it was a stranger.  I did not remember going to sleep and could not rationalize the situation.  I did not move for fear that the man would hear me or feel my movements. 

I strained to put familiarity to the details that I could see and feel – white popcorn ceiling, white walls, large window to my left, bookshelf, overly-soft mattress, down comforter.  Nothing I saw or felt brought any more details to the situation until the stranger moved, rolled over and then sat up and walked toward the bathroom.

My heart raced, unsure of what was coming. From the corner of my eye, I saw the stranger’s long straight hair and details of my situation came flooding back.  San Diego. I was in San Diego, in the apartment that I shared with my girlfriend. And the stranger, the person that I had been sure was a man, was actually Ingrid.

Ingrid returned and saw that I was awake. “Can’t sleep?”

“Bad dream,” I replied, trying to shake some lingering disorientation.

“Oh,” she said sleepily. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No,” I said, hoping it a one-time occurrence.  It was not...