Dragging Corpses
My insomnia is acting up again. I've taken two sleeping pills yesterday morning and last night, yet the only hours I've been able to sleep is 3 this morning from 7-9. I promised my psychiatrist that I'll only take them if I hadn't gotten any sleep more than 24 hours and now my head is kicking up a storm.
I wonder if it'd be superstitious to say it'd have something related with the dream of mirrors I had couple of days ago. I'm starting to think the dream of mirrors were dragged up by the most recent void memory being surfaced. Maybe it's a reaction. God, I don't know.
There were similarities.
Maybe my head cocked up a dream from what it interpreted as a hey-you-got-a-memory-back-here's-a-gift thing. I saw 14 years old me like a mirror with a reflection that wasn't truly mine eventhough I feel her as myself and the dream...turned it sinister, even when I considered the coming-back memory a positive one despite what it entailed.
Why couldn't my head leave me alone?
Things were looking up. Genuinely, for once. I felt loved and accepted truly by the conscious efforts of my parents as they sent me off back to college. Cared for. I wasn't dreading the other shoe to drop.
When I didn't, it did.
It felt like the proverbial rug being pulled under my feet.
"GOTCHA!" it said.
I hate the nightmares the most. Panic attacks and the rest, I've dealt my peace with it. But truly, nightmares I hate the most. They make me afraid to sleep. They make me afraid of the capabilities of my own head. They make me fear myself around people.
When was the last time I jolted awake from a sleep and immediately got into a panic attack and melted into a full-blown meltdown? 2013? I was....17? The nights when I was alone and locked in the darkness of my room, knowing with the distance between the rooms, nobody would hear my screams and cries into the pillows under the blanket.
I hate jolting awake from my sleep, tears track on my face, only to continue into a suffocating pain seconds later. I fucking hate it. I'd rather deal with retching my whole nights away in the toilet bowl.
For fuck's sake, it was one void memory, leave it the fuck alone.
It came back where it's supposed to belong, don't turn it into one my demons just because I don't remember them. Just because my psychiatrist declared me suicidal-risk free doesn't mean it's a green light for you to fuck it up. I was supposed to reduce my anxiety meds. Guess I can't now.
Fucking hell.
I wonder if it'd be superstitious to say it'd have something related with the dream of mirrors I had couple of days ago. I'm starting to think the dream of mirrors were dragged up by the most recent void memory being surfaced. Maybe it's a reaction. God, I don't know.
There were similarities.
Maybe my head cocked up a dream from what it interpreted as a hey-you-got-a-memory-back-here's-a-gift thing. I saw 14 years old me like a mirror with a reflection that wasn't truly mine eventhough I feel her as myself and the dream...turned it sinister, even when I considered the coming-back memory a positive one despite what it entailed.
Why couldn't my head leave me alone?
Things were looking up. Genuinely, for once. I felt loved and accepted truly by the conscious efforts of my parents as they sent me off back to college. Cared for. I wasn't dreading the other shoe to drop.
When I didn't, it did.
It felt like the proverbial rug being pulled under my feet.
"GOTCHA!" it said.
I hate the nightmares the most. Panic attacks and the rest, I've dealt my peace with it. But truly, nightmares I hate the most. They make me afraid to sleep. They make me afraid of the capabilities of my own head. They make me fear myself around people.
When was the last time I jolted awake from a sleep and immediately got into a panic attack and melted into a full-blown meltdown? 2013? I was....17? The nights when I was alone and locked in the darkness of my room, knowing with the distance between the rooms, nobody would hear my screams and cries into the pillows under the blanket.
I hate jolting awake from my sleep, tears track on my face, only to continue into a suffocating pain seconds later. I fucking hate it. I'd rather deal with retching my whole nights away in the toilet bowl.
For fuck's sake, it was one void memory, leave it the fuck alone.
It came back where it's supposed to belong, don't turn it into one my demons just because I don't remember them. Just because my psychiatrist declared me suicidal-risk free doesn't mean it's a green light for you to fuck it up. I was supposed to reduce my anxiety meds. Guess I can't now.
Fucking hell.
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