This terrible Thing happened. It was a life-ruining, dream-crushing Thing. It was horrible. I was sitting in the kitchen of a friend from church crying my eyes out. I was bawling uncontrolably and inconsolably (rightfully so) like I haven't done since I don't know when. When I thought about the Thing I felt ill. When I thought about what to do next--how to get over the Thing--all the options seemed more horrendus and painful and sickening then the Thing itself. I wanted to die. I was heavy and full of black dread.
I sobbed, "I'm usually a straight-forward head-on kind of person. I can usually face things, but I can't face this. I can't do it. All I can do is hope it will magically disappear. For the first time in my life I can honestly only see failure and doom. All I can do is wish this is all a dream and that I will wake up."
And then I did.
It was a dream.
I was so happy.
I snuggled back under my covers with the robins chirping outside the window and had another hour of blissful dream-free sleep.