this little hell

i've become the victim of my own creation

i awoke, only a few minutes ago (thanks to being unable to safely get to work today)

 from a very long, frustrating sequence of dreams. 

the combination of this change in weather, too many hours of slipping in and out of consciousness, and reading directly before bed, the breathtaking catching fire

contributed into a collaboration of this hard-to-distinguish-false-reality

after i finally awoke from it all, i had to force myself to lay there, and begin to sort through what i know to be true

and what is complete and utter bullshit that my not-so-better-half concocts in the middle of the night, God knows why.. 

because as if time itself, isn't fading the reality of who you are, fast enough.. now i have these distorted views of who you are, constantly bombarding every one of my senses in my most vulnerable time; the dead of night. 

-

when i was younger, it used to be instantaneous - i'd immediately awaken myself from a nightmare..i had that ability to self destruct myself in that surreal world, to save myself. 

i've completely lost that ability to do so, presently. somewhere in between the years, that ability became stagnant. 

i've discovered my memory to be quite selective. it'll fasten itself to the warm, pleasant memories of my childhood; the negative, scarring memories, it'll bury somewhere even i can't find

Until nights like these, where the familiarity brings it all back in waves.

i've truly tried to make sense of it all,

reflecting back on how young, how innocent and protected i used to be

it absolutely boggles my mind, how the hell my little nine-year-old mind created those scenarios that continually plagued me, night after night, up until the age of twelve.

i was surprised at the years of peaceful nights, following that, but of course never questioned - only accepted them gratefully

then enter john doe. 

he was quiet, seductive, mysterious; yes

and in the eyes of society, i was young; yes

but i knew better. i knew there was more to him than he was leading on

while i allowed my gut feeling to be muted, my nightmares weren't havin' it.

just 16, they returned. and stayed as long as he did.

-

(remember when i told you about the terrifying incubus'nightmare? 

you laughed at how much it got to me

and joked casually, that you were jealous of him 

that was the day i realize what a twisted son of a bitch you really were)

-

exactly a year from today, they ceased. and i found peace once again.

until these past two weeks.

 

sometimes i wish i could truly show someone how real, and affecting the nightmares were

and are still, to this day. 

imagination, currently, is nothing but a curse.

i wish i could end it all, with a terrified scream

like the good old days