I'm having nightmares I can't wake from in time. Of being on a plane and it's dipping in the sea - how can I ever fly again? And of being in a slasher film in a red hotel room and I'm the final girl, petrified in bed, and receiving calls and messages of support from my... friends? Family? The killer? There are other scenarios, ones I can't remember, but their impact is felt. Why do I even want to remember them? Is doing nothing but reading making me like this? Then I'm glad of going out and socialising a lot more now. Glad of getting out of the house for fresh air, for short walks. Where there are clouds, people, dogs, cats, flowers, blossoms so beautiful they don't belong in this country.
No choice. No fairness. Nothing in life comes without a price.
I remember dreaming of being in a ghetto gang club or in a dark rambunctious something, and I smoked my first ever cigarette (never going to do that in reality!). I stubbed it out after two inhales but deep down I kind of liked it. Oh and I dreamt of family and house-moving troubles, with me at the bottom of the stairs. I am disturbed by my own weird psyche.
You are always stronger than you think you are.
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