Tonight, you will not get me. I feel you, I see you creeping up from the shadows. You’ve been the forefront of my existence for too long now.
Your content has been all to real…nothing short of a horror moving featuring my real life.
Tonight, I won’t let the fear of you drink me into comatose.
(She says as she pours another drink.)
Shit. The tone of this has changed since I first started writing.
Nightmares are no longer the opposed enemy. They’re nothing to fight against.
They’re simply the guarantee.
A guarantee of terror.
Who will it be tonight? Who’s demise will I witness unfolding within my sleep?
My children? My birth son? (Who shouldn’t have any distinction from my children, but for some reason does anyway.) Myself?
They aren’t nightmares at all, are they?
Maybe they’re just the truths unfolding slowly in front of me.
My kids are dying. My birth son, in every metaphorical way is dead. He isn’t here in the way I so desperately wish that we was.
My marriage…well…my perspective can force it into death. It doesn’t matter the reality. Late drunken nights will always convince me that it’s shit.
I’m lucky (unlucky?) that I’ve made it this far.
I am a nightmare. And I shouldn’t be alive.
I am a living nightmare. I bring chaos and horror to everyone around me.
My dreams are a reflection of my reality.
My reality is a nightmare.
And so are my dreams.
Who am I to try to convince myself that I deserve the space I take up on this planet?
Please don’t take my kids. Please don’t take my marriage. And please….please don’t torture me anymore.
Just take me. I’m strong enough.
I’ll live your nightmare.
Just please…don’t force me to wake up from it anymore.
I think this means that you win.
So please…let’s give up the fight now.