My mind is a tangled mess of hate and disappointment. Unable to take the torrent of random emotions, I lay myself down in a bed made for two, but only ever has one. As I drift into sleep the echoes of the past return to haunt my dreams. I see her. In all white she moves towards me with the mask of a smile. She has nothing but malice in her eyes. Yet I find myself smiling, welcoming the pain I must endure for her company. She whispers in either ear all the reasons I have failed, all the ways I don’t measure up. Why she discarded me.

In an instant I am running. Running through a thick fog in a black hallway, not being able to see what is in front of me, nor what is behind me. Even though I can not see it, I know what is behind, the beast that is my hate. It masks itself in a cloud made of soot and dreams turned to ash. As I run the voice resounds all around me, a booming insidious voice, telling me I have achieved nothing, that all I dream is nothing, that I am nothing. Without even realizing it I reach the end of the seemingly endless hallway and begin to fall. I fall for what seems like an eternity. Everything is black masking the inevitable ground I will impact on.

Suddenly time begins to distort itself, I am falling through air that is so heavy that it seems to slow my inevitable death from the impact of my fall. I can see the floor now, the bottom of the depths. Time begins to slow and I watch myself hit the floor, blood and viscera shoot in all different directions, what once was my body is sprawled across the entirety of the ground, my bones snapped and jutting out of skin in sharp spikes. My clavicle protruding through my neck and femurs stabbing through my stomach. Disembodied, I see this gruesome scene. However the pain is gone, the smoky beast that was chasing me evaporated and sent back to whatever plane it was from.

They say if you die in a dream you die in reality. It is true that each night I die in my dreams a small part of myself is lost, I do not wholly die, but die in small ways, moments and confidence lost a few inches at a time. The minuet deaths slowly add up until there is nothing left. All I am, all I aspire to be and achieve, turns to ash. The wind blowing what is left to oblivion.

My eyes snap open, my body is covered in a cold sweat. I have lived and died again. Now I must find a way to traverse this thing they call life, knowing that each night I will die, that my dreams will be shattered. That my dreams, ephemeral, will twist in ways to torture me. I must live with this fact, for those that I care about expect me to breathe. To smile. To exist. To live.


4 Responses

  1. This was like nothing I’ve read before. While I’ve obviously not shared the exact same source of pain, self doubt, and self hate, fear and hope, I FELT IT. You took my breath away with your visceral descriptiveness. My own experiences have scarred me inside much more than out, yet I go on bc like you, I am expected to. And truthfully, because of some who expect me NOT TO. Thank you so much for your eloquent words. I look forward to reading more of them.

    • Thank you Angela. I, like you, suffer far more from internal scars. I am glad you could feel the writing, that warms my heart.

  2. Absolutely amazing! You have a gift. Not very many writers can pull me right in and make me feel every emotion like you! I had to read all of your recent pieces after the first one I read.

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