And you knew it wasn't true, but you agreed anyway.

...tomorrow, when we talk about it again, he'll say that it was just my attitude that made him say that. He'll say it was just the way I act like I know everything, that it's my fault he got angry. And I'll see his side of the story and forget that he's not seeing mine, and then I'll agree to try to change something about myself so that we can communicate better when really, really, the fact is we will never ever communicate effectively because he will never be held accountable for the things he does that are wrong. He will always blame me...


Pretty much more or less exactly how it went tonight. Plus a panic attack when he said he was going home early. I freaked out at the thought that he would rather go home and lay on the uncomfortable bedroom floor while listening to his estranged girlfriend breathe while she sleeps in what used to be their bed...than spend another moment with me.
And the thought made me start hyperventilating, then I started feeling like a child and an idiot who couldn't control her emotions (anymore) and I freaked out even more. Then I felt guilty because he ripped his tennis shoes off and said "jesus fucking christ" and I just knew he was thinking I'm a weak, annoying, immature, manipulative bitch. So then I cried even harder for making him feel that way (if he was, indeed feeling that way).

Anyway...I made him mad, so that's why he told me to shut the fuck up. I was having an attitude. Because I told him "I am not in control of what YOU say...I refuse to take responsibility for YOUR choice of words." he rebutted by accusing me of always defending my actions, making excuses, and retracing my steps to make myself look better. Oh, also...when he was making me feel threatened by pointing at my face and standing closely over me, and I responded by disarming his threat...he says I was trying to get him to hurt me physically.
"I would never raise my hands to you, you fucking know that! So it was almost like you were egging me on, wanting me to do something to you"
Oh...okay...I thought I was stomping his threat to the ground, not inviting more.
I know he would never hit me...that's why it's so jarring and scary when his body language is so threatening. I know that's how he intends it to be, too...but according to him, I don't know what I'm talking about.

Tonight's argument was about my best friend coming into town for a week next month. I told him I was going to St.Louis to visit her for a couple of days. He got mad because I "Told" him instead of "Informing" him. He wants me to phrase it as "Do you mind if I..." But I tried to explain to him that's misleading because I don't care if he minds or not...I'm going to St.Louis so I thought I'd let him know.
Well now I'm selfish and I don't take his feelings into consideration.
Also...because my friend is coming here, I told him I'd probably be spending a couple nights hanging out with her (They don't like each other so I assumed he wouldn't be involved...and he said he was like "why can't you hang out during the day?" What the fuck??? What the fuck??? What. The. Fuck.

My face itches.

THENNNNNN he said that because I stereotype cops (as ruthless, douchebag ass wipe morons who are power-hungry and fucked up), I have no place getting mad at his friends for stereotyping women or minorities in front of me. Okay...that makes sense. Dumbass.

ANyway...

I've realized that this blog has started being about MY RELATIONSHIP instead of MY HEART HEALTH.
For that, I apologize to you and to myself.
I am giving way too much power to this shit...and not enough towards my well-being.
Well...my heart is okay right now. A bit tired after tonight.


Please tell me I'm a good person. Tell me I'm not selfish or stupid or fucking ignorant and immature. Tell me I'm wanted and beautiful. Tell me I'm worthy of being touched...tell me I'm not crazy for needing physical affection as complement to verbal affection. Tell me I'm not pissing you off by staying with my partner because I'm weak and just roll over and take it. Tell me something positive and wonderful.
Please.

I am the result of things better left unsaid.

From diary: December 2004...15 YEARS OLD:

""Do you really want to know why I am so fucking mental right now? Because it really is all my fault. If I would have stayed with Josh instead of giving up on him, he wouldn't be so fucked up on drugs trying to make his life better. If I hadn't met Michelle, she would still be going to church, not with peter, not cutting. Tess would be here, where she belongs intstead of doing drugs in Fairgrove, if I hadn't told her to fuck her parents and start doing drugs with me...now she tells me she snorted "the best goddamn cocaine" last night because she thinks it will make me love her the way she wants me to. I want to die sometimes, you know...just die.""

I got the prescription today. Not the prescription I wanted, but one that will work nonetheless. Because how do I tell my doctor that I've built up a tolerance to these medications so much that a normal dose does little to effect me these days? Is 20 pills enough...well, yes, hypothetically. Nothing much I can do...because I can't tell her it's for panic and emotional pain, not physical pain. I can't tell her that it makes me not care, and I need more than 20 pills.

My baby sister surprised me today, coming into my room at about 11 this morning. It was such a wonderful beginning to my day! She's 20 years old, and we're very close. She's thinking about moving here, in which case I can get the fuck out of this stupid house.
I'm happy she's here because I get to spend time with her. Time I didn't take advantage of when we were in high school, but now miss dearly.
That's how it goes I suppose...

Tonight there was something happening across the street from my house. There was a group of people walking, and a cop stopped and said something out his window at them. I don't know what was said, but the cop parked his car on the street and got out and started yelling at the people. Then he grabbed one of them and made him put his hands on the hood. The rest of the people started crowding around the cop, and he freaked out and pulled out his pepper spray, then he called for backup. He turned back to the guy on the hood and slammed his head down twice into the car. The people started screaming at him and just as that happened, 5 (yes...FIVE) other cop cars pulled up and one guy came running (quite over-zealously if I may interject)at the group with his fucking taser pointed at them all. Well they cuffed the man and put him in the car and proceeded to fuck with the group of people.

During this time I made comments like "what the fuck!? Why is he pulling out his taser? Those people didn't even do anything" And my partner got very angry and said "What the hell do you know? You don't know if those people did something! You just think automatically that the cops are wrong!"
Well, yeah...one goes by one's experiences. And the fucking obvious display in front of us!
I said "Yeah, well no matter what he did, there doesn't need to be a cop hitting his face into the hood of the car. There doesn't need to be excessive force, this much backup, or fucking tasers. Tasers can kill people!"
Then he said "Shut the fuck up."

See...he's been saying this a whole lot lately. It was okay at first, because we give each other shit all the time, I call him dumbass, or idiot, and he calls me a jackass. Whatever, that's fine. I like joking like that...it's followed by a laugh or a kiss, or something to acknowledge it's just mutual shit-giving. But not recently. He's been saying shut the fuck up seriously. When I am talking, or when I am disagreeing with him, like here. Well I got mad.

"Don't fucking tell me to shut up!" He then pointed his finger really close to my face and said "You don't even fucking know what's going on! You just think you know everything." I slapped his hand away and said "Don't point your finger at me, and don't tell me to shut the fuck up. It's mean and it hurts my feelings. Show some respect." This was all in front of my sister, and at that point she went outside to get a closer look at what was going on outside.

"Just because you disagree with someone doesn't mean you can tell them to shut up." I said to him. "Well you shouldn't give me so much attitude."
"I AM NOT YOUR CHILD! I AM YOUR PARTNER! I shouldn't have to worry about the TONE OF VOICE I use when I'm telling you not to tell me to shut the fuck up!"
Then he stood really close to me (he's taller than me so he was looking down on me) and said something I don't remember. I moved away from him and said "are you trying to intimidate me right now? Because I'm not fucking scared of you"
Oh... he didn't know what to say about that. "What the hell are you talking about?"
And he sat down on the couch. I sat down, too.
I tried saying it nicer and calmer, again... "It's just a matter of respect, I would never, ever tell you to shut the fuck up because I love and respect you."
"Yeah, okay" he said facetiously as he nodded excessively and mockingly with a fake exaggerated smile.
"Don't ever tell me to shut the fuck up ever again."
He said "Don't fucking tell me what I can and cannot say" with a very serious angry face.

"DON'T EVER TELL ME TO SHUT THE FUCK UP EVER AGAIN."

Then he said "Shut the fuck up."

Wonderful.
Wonderful.
Wonderful.

And what's so upsetting is that tomorrow, when we talk about it again, he'll say that it was just my attitude that made him say that. He'll say it was just the way I act like I know everything, that it's my fault he got angry. And I'll see his side of the story and forget that he's not seeing mine, and then I'll agree to try to change something about myself so that we can communicate better when really, really, the fact is we will never ever communicate effectively because he will never be held accountable for the things he does that are wrong. He will always blame me until eventually I'll just stop having opinions, thoughts, or conversations. Just like the girlfriend he already has.
FUck fuck fuck.


fuck.

That was a really long post. These medicines have the effect of "rambling" on me.

Anyway....the cops let that guy go. Then, (perhaps it was a bit out of line) I said "wow, he didn't do anything!!! Imagine that!!! The cops used excessive force and almost tasered someone that didn't even do anything!!! Cops are so cool and fair!"

hahaha...
Geez.

Lost in a sea of everything and nothing.

From APRIL 14TH 2004...age 15.

I wanna go home. I hate it here. If there is a such thing as hell I DO imagine that this is it. I dont like falling asleep to the screams of babys in pain, nor the sound of shit beeping in my ear...I havent eaten in 6 days...havent sat up in a few either. My back is going to fall off. Yes, yes it is. I think you forget what pain is after not having a visit from it in a while.

I want it to be over.

pain is hard to ignore. And its like a dungeon here. The blinds are closed...I am like in the ghetto part of the hospital. At least in intensive care, they tried to make my life worth living. I beeped for like, an hour last night before someone came to help. I am not going to lie...I feel like the doctors dont know what they are doing. I feel more and more like this life is a big joke. Whoever makes the most money. There are a few awesome people here though, who make a difference, because if i had to be here all the time I would shoot myself. But on a lighter note...aggg..there is no lighter note. See ya later.






I think I have intimacy problems. I need a lot of it, but I don't know how to get it. I try to have sex even if I don't really feel like it because it makes me feel close to him. I try to instigate arguments (whether unintentional or not) so he stays longer, so he fights with me and proves his love by getting upset. I confuse intensity with intimacy and it's making me a hollowed out, sad sad version of myself.
I have an appointment on monday to get another prescription for pain meds. My headaches and panic are a constant these days. What's wrong with me?

My friend, cry for me. I am but an unborn catastrophe.

hmmmm...where to start today. I suppose I'll start by saying that I'm getting sick I think... Since those panic attacks, I've felt like shit. I think I stressed my heart out a bit too much. I had my heart rate at about 180 for all together, about 40 minutes. I think I might have damaged it more, or weakened it at least.
About 2 years ago, when I was first put on the transplant list, I felt so sick. I was emaciated and weighed 30lbs less than I do now. I was weak and tired and unhealthy.
Since last Thursday, I've felt like that again. Everything I eat makes me feel nauseous, and I'm full all the time. I feel sluggish and tired. My blood pressure is all kinds of funky and even bending over to play pool is making me feel lightheaded.
Egh. What to do.


The good (?) news is that at my parents, I recovered several old journals. I shall now be sharing a tidbit of my choosing in every post from now on.
Hahaha.


From October, 2004, age 15:

Hey,
The other day, Mr.Yates (the principal) called me into his office to talk about the kind of music I listen to. He says it isn't appropriate for school...and for that matter it's not appropriate out of school, either. He then proceeded to give me a lecture (He actually "searched" my locker and listened to a CD Melissa gave me, and the one song he listened to was "Heretic Anthem" by Slipknot) He went on and on about how it said in the song, "I wanna be a sinner" Blah blah fuckity blah. Fuck him...he was like "you know that's worse than KISS?!". Then he said that I wonder why no ones parents will let their kids come over to me house. He said that he was very disappointed in me and that he hoped that in the future, I would remember that conversation and realize he was right.

I still think he's a fucking douchebag, and he was definitely wrong.

Breathing too fast, not breathing at all.

tonight...

I had 3 or 4 panic attacks.
We were fighting again, like most nights, only tonight was much much worse.
After what happened last night...him just leaving when I wasn't done talking...I wasn't really feeling that happy to see him this afternoon.
I tried to explain to him that it hurt my feelings when he just became completely silent while I was trying to have a conversation with him.
I told him how it makes me feel very squashed, and like I'm just being annoying and talking too much.

Instead of talking like a normal human being to me, he had to start fighting. He told me I was harassing him and that I needed to let it go. I said I couldn't let it go until I got what I needed from the conversation.
Then somehow he got so pissed off that he said he wasn't going to take me to league. That's when I had my first panic attack. I felt out of control of the situation and I felt responsible for ruining his night simply by trying to ask him for something he wasn't giving me.

I freaked out.

When i have panic attacks around him, he doesn't stop the fight. He takes the time when I can't speak because I'm hyperventilating, to say mean shit that makes the attack even worse.
He's never even skipped a beat to ask what he can do to help me calm down. He's never thought "hey, even though we're fighting, I should put my anger on hold to help her calm down". Nothing. And then I start thinking about that and it makes the panic attack even worse. Eghk.

The second attack came when I finally calmed myself down from the first one. Somehow we were fighting again, and he said he suddenly doesn't give a shit about my family, and that he doesn't want to go to visit them this weekend because there's "too much drama surrounding it". Even though this has been the plan for over a week.

I freaked out.

I started uncontrollably breathing very quickly, and I felt silly for behaving like (what I thought was like) a child, and therefore started freaking out more. I felt extremely guilty for ruining "everything" and I couldn't calm down.
I finally had to take 2 Vicodin to prevent passing out...even though I'm allergic to vicodin and I get a really ugly rash from it. I still took it.

Eventually he was so mad that he started just saying mean shit for the hell of it.
I found out that he values his home and other material posessions/money so much (he would lose it if anything happened to his relationship because his girlfriend co-owns it) that he doesn't know for sure if he can be with me before my transplant. Seriously?
He seriously might not be able to drive me to MAJOR LIFE THREATENING surgery...because he might have to lie to his girlfriend. That put a whole new twist on everything.

I left our fight with this conclusion/s:

1.) I should never tell him if something is bothering me because he has no intention to speak with me about it.
2.) Should I choose to tell him something that's bothering me, it needs to be a concise statement, or else I'm "harassing" him with too much information.
3.) My opinion is shit.
4.) I don't have a support system for after my transplant.
5.) I will have a very disgusting rash on my hands tomorrow.

All in all...
A very very bad evening. Especially for my heart. The proverbial one.

defeated but not done yet

Tonight was...annoying.
He left mad. Without a kiss or a hug. Without a smile.
Probably because we spent 45 minutes talking about shit he doesn't like talking about. Let me make that more clear...I spent 45 minutes talking about something I needed from him, while he laid back with his eyes closed, silent. Even when I said, "are you still listening to me?" and "If you don't want to talk to me, just say that"...silence.
I was trying to tell him that I don't feel like he acknowledges or shows very much appreciation for the fact that I have to lie all the fucking time to my family.
That I have to tell my mother that I am having thanksgiving dinner with him, or that he's bombing his house for bugs and that's why she can't see it. That I have to think up an excuse for why we aren't coming to my parent's house until 3, because the real reason is that his girlfriend doesn't go to work until 1:00.
Tonight I simply asked him to help me think of an excuse (lie) to tell my mom why we couldn't come earlier. He completely dismissed me, and said "tell her I'm busy..hahaha" like it was a joke or something. I tried to explain to him that because of that comment, it made it seem like he was unappreciative of the sacrifices I make to be in this relationship, mainly dealing with the fact that he is with another (unknowing) lady.
I told him I don't ever want to feel EXPECTED
to be okay with it. I want to hear "thank you for putting up with this shit, I know it's really hard on you" I want him to be ready and willing to meet me halfway if ONCE IN A GREAT WHILE I ask him to recognize the shit I deal with and help me deal with it, too.
I was really trying to tell him that the issue is him not admitting that having a girlfriend presents these problems. He can't leave until she is gone for work, ergo we cannot leave until late, ergo I have to lie to my parents, ergo they are hurt that we aren't coming earlier.
He tried to change the subject so many times "the only reason you wanted to go up there was to get things out of storage, so lets just get that straight" he was trying to change the subject off of himself. Then he tried to dismiss the whole thing by saying "fine, go earlier by yourself, I'll meet you later (in Columbia)" like threatening me or something.
Then he started saying that all I was doing was trying to pressure him to break up with his girlfriend...which is his default position whenever I bring her up because he knows it makes me feel bad and he knows I will end up saying sorry and we wont have to talk about whatever the real issue was.
Here's a newsflash for ya: I DONT WANT YOU TO BREAK UP WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!
I DON'T WANT YOU TO BREAK UP WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!
Then I would have to take her place and fill her shoes. I'm not like her. There is no way in hell I would sit up in that house and do your fucking dirty laundry and grocery shopping and make you dinner while you were never home. While you were never there at night, while you never slept with me. No fucking way I would trap myself in a suburb with a man who won't even show the least bit of appreciation towards me why? Pride? He's too manly to show his feelings?
You've got to be smoking crack if you think I want to be in that situation. With you, yes. If you wanted any of the things I want in my life. If you were willing to travel with me, if you were willing to let me do the things I love without worrying about hurting your feelings for no damn reason other than possessiveness. If you would appreciate me and compliment me occasionally. If you had anything positive to say about my life or myself.

And I guess that's that.

Fear is the enemy here.

I know this much is true:

I am not a careful person. You don't normally see me with much restraint. I do what I want when I want without much care as to what it entails. It sounds crude but I don't mind. I trip over shit because I don't ever look at the places I'm stepping, only to my destination. I run into doors. I hit my head and drink old water on accident because I forgot to take it to the sink and I puncture my eyeball with an aloe plant. I get my jeans dirty only 5 minutes after taking them from the dryer. I let my car get so messy I can't take any passengers before I clean it. I fall down stairs and I get mad and kick stuff and break my toe because I forgot I didn't have shoes on. I go to the bathroom and forget I'm connected to an IV and pull out the needle on a fairly regular basis. I kick my partner in the face while we're having sex because I kind of forgot he was there.
I'm not careful, or graceful, or suave or whatever.
Stop trying to make me be. I'm not ready, nor do I believe I will ever be ready to be a typical proper woman. Stop making me feel bad for the way I am. It's how I am.
Goddammit.

I'm a fucking fool.

Its like this and like that and like this and...uh?

Feeling a bit better today. More...human. It helps if I just forget everything that is negative. Even if it presents itself, I literally ignore it. It doesn't go away, but it's kind of like acting in a movie, it becomes a game to see how long I play the part. Not perfect, but functional.

I rode on the Harley today. The first time he brought it out this year. Anything dangerous or painful- I crave. I need. I find enthralling and riveting. I want more. I love feeling at the complete and utter mercy of fate and chance and accident. It makes me feel so alive...so normal. So equal to every other body in the world.

I had a dream last night that I got my transplant. I went for it, and then 2 days later I woke up, was walking around, and had a very thick bandage around my sternum with an ice pack against my breastbone and underneath the gauze. I realized I was alone, as in there was no family or friends near me...only doctors and other patients. I was walking outside and it was hot and humid. My heart was beating very hard and very fast. I called my partner, and my mom, and my friends. They said they didn't know I was there, that I must not have called them when I got the call for my transplant. I felt really guilty and bad. Then I called my doctor, and asked whose heart I got...
"I can't tell you that, you know this"
"I know, but make an exception, I just want to know how young the person was"
"sorry, nope".
Then I woke up.


My medicines make me something like 40% more at risk for skin cancer. Even the shortest bit of sunlight makes me burn...for instance standing on the front porch for 5 minutes. And not just like "oh, darn I'm sun burned" But "fuck I need to lie in a bath of ice cubes and aloe for the next 10 days, and bring percocet" kind of sunburn. Point being...I've got several heat rashes right now and they fucking itch.
The medicines also cause severe photophobia. I can't stand bright lights. The sun physically hurts my eyes. The lamps above pool tables cause me pain while I'm shooting pool.
It's unfortunate, but my medicines kind of make me a vampire.
Muah hahaha.

What else?
Nothing much.


Goodnight. Self. And Insomnia. And you...person reading this who doesn't exist.

Fairy tales gone terribly awry

I am so tired of sleeping alone.
Every night my partner has to go home around midnight. My proverbial Cinderella. Only there's no glass slipper or story of a happy ending. Even if there was a glass slipper, I already know where to find it's owner so there's really no mystery there. It would belong to a man I'm in love with, at his home that he shares with his girlfriend of 12 years, a woman who doesn't even know I exist. A woman who is blind or dumb to his endeavors. He comes to my house every evening and we play nice like a happy couple, and it feels good and "normal" but then he starts checking his watch every 15 minutes so he can make sure he doesn't stay too late, so his ignorant, or damaged, or dependent, or oblivious, or...abused?...girlfriend doesn't get suspicious.
What is the point of our relationship?
He isn't interested in the things I am interested in. We don't agree about politics, class, racism, gender, or even about simple things like etiquette. It may sound ridiculous, but he asks me to go in the bathroom if I have to burp or fart, because "women are dainty creatures" and "aren't supposed" to have bodily functions.
He always has something negative to say. Always, without fail, even when there is a compliment to be had, he adds a stinger at the end. His compliments are back-handed insults.

The very nature of our relationship is a catalyst to my every insecurity. Insecurities that believe it or not, I've worked my entire life to dispel, or to weaken. My whole life I compared myself to a ridiculous standard of beauty. It caused me to compare myself to other women, with completely different bone structures than me. Women I could never be, but starved myself to be more like, threw up my meals to be more like. I spent so many years teaching myself to love my body and my skin and my face and myself. I got to a pretty positive place self-image wise. But apparently no matter how sure of yourself you are, no matter how beautiful you believe yourself to be...if someone you care about tells you otherwise or acts otherwise it is so so so so so sooooo hard to combat those messages. I started comparing myself to other women again. Women I saw him looking at, women I hear his friends making objectifying remarks to/about/at. I started getting mad at the women for my partners lewd remarks and gestures. I was mad at them for being more desirable than I thought I was, or more deserving of his attention.
Recently I've realized my behaviors. I've made an enormous effort not to even look at other women. Not to objectify them and break them apart into comparable body parts. And in doing this I'm starting to regain a sense of self. I'm starting to rummage through the pieces of myself that I've let fall to the wayside to preserve his feelings, possessiveness, and archaic rules of propriety. It's hard, but a work in progress and progress is going well.
What's wrong with me?
What am I doing with this person who occasionally makes me happy beyond compare, but mostly just adds tenfold to my feelings of imprisonment and confinement and claustrophobia. Why do I put up with it? Because I love him? Because I care about his feelings and don't ever want to lose his feelings of love for me? Love sucks.
Love sucks
Love sucks
love suckslovesuckslovesuckslovesuckslovesuckslovessuckslovesuckslovesucks.


Fuck





I DON'T WANT TO SLEEP ALONE ANYMORE.

.

ERGHHHH!!!!
I hate waking up in a perfectly fine mood only to have it smashed to bits by some insensitive fuckwad.
I CANNOT LEAVE COLUMBIA!! I cannot be more than 2 fucking hours from st.louis. For 2 grueling years its been this way. I have to watch passively my friends moving and exploring and having adventures while I rot away in this shitty town. Do you think I want to be here? Living in a house with 8 people? I have ONE ROOM to call my own, and its bulging with my containment. Do you think I want to be here, desperately trying to find things to occupy my time? Fighting constantly with my partner because he's the only one who ever hears this crap and it wears him out?
So when you send me stupid messages and annoying comments like "you would love this wonderful awesome place I am at, why don't you come visit?" or "Come see me!" or any other insensitive ramblings like that, it makes me feel like you aren't really my friend. Have you ACTUALLY forgotten that I am waiting for a heart transplant? Have you ACTUALLY forgotten that I can't leave this place? Have you ACTUALLY forgotten that I am dying and you aren't making it any easier by teasing me with all the wonderful things I may very well never experience?

It pisses me off when you talk about how awful your life is because you can't decide what to do given the volume of your options. Cry me a fucking river.
It pisses me off when you tell me you're going to do a health study where they inject you with TYPHOID FEVER. You are perfectly healthy and you're just throwing it away for what? $4000 dollars? Here's an idea...get a job you asshole. At least you can get a job and support yourself. You don't even understand how degrading it is to get $500 dollars a month from the government and not be able to work to support yourself.
It isn't fair that I have the will and drive, but lack the ability, and fools like you have all the ability in the world and you're pissing it away. You're pissing on me and laughing in my face.


Not that I want to tell anyone how to live their lives. Or how to treat their own bodies...just that it's so frustrating.
So frustrating.
So frustrating sometimes to think I have this strong support system, to think I might have made good enough friends over the years that they can respect me a little bit. By not making insensitive commments that prove just how normalized my illness has become to them.
I know, though, that when the call comes for me to come lay on the hard cold steel table and have my HEART SURGICALLY REMOVED AND REPLACED WITH THAT OF A CORPSE, my friends will come and see me, and shmooze, but ultimately I will deal with it alone because that's my curse i suppose.

Or maybe my friends will step up and suprise me, being jarred by the reality of the situation once I'm on the operating table.
MEh.

Blogs..
For complaining.
wah wah wah. Woe is me. I am sad. Wah.
My life is so bad. Meh meh meh.
Poppycock.
blah.
blah
blah.

Sometimes I feel like my emotions are going to break me.
I hope not, though. Because I have places like this to share my frustrations.

Yep.

My dreams.
Are becoming an entire existence. Last night I dreamed more than 4 dreams. One was very intense...about being interred in a death camp of sorts, in cramped conditions. My head was shaved and I was thrown into a small dirt-floor room with 15 or so others. We didn't have anything in common, really. Nothing obvious anyway.
When I left the building I was in a long outdoor corridor...an alley of sorts...with other shack-like structures lining it. Surrounding the corridor were 50 foot fences of steel, with no way to see out. The tops and sides were laden with razor wire.
There were people roaming the corridor and guards dressed in brown with black boots and large guns standing at and around the huge gate that was the entrance, and walking through the corridor occasionally. Every half hour or so, the guards left view and a sprinkler system came on...more like a mister. It sprayed everyone in the area.
After a while I made some friends, and then as time passed, people started dying. They would start getting sick and become very skinny. Then they would start coughing up a disgusting greenish gunk from their mouths. They would get really violent and then die by exhausting themselves in undirected rage.
I started getting sick, but a few of us, myself included, didn't go past the sick stage. We felt like shit, but didn't die. We all eventually discovered/deduced that this was a testing facility for mass biological warfare,and that we were resistant and therefore valuable to their research.
Then a loud siren went off, and all the guards marched through the corridor in a procession line. They were being called to some sort of fight, and I was making plans to escape before their return...when I awoke this morning .

When I did awake, my head pounded with a migraine. I found that the blood vessels under my eyes were ruptured. From screaming in my dream. From holding my breath while being tortured in water.

My dreams have always been vivid. I've remembered nearly all my dreams since my first one when I was 3 years old. It's like a part of me lives in another world. There are many recurring places that I dream of. Familiar, homey places. The old house with the impossible construction. The forest where I was a ghost, where the old tree spoke to me and I saw it's whole life in front of my eyes. The haunted house with a roller coaster, where I've faced some of my deepest fears. The school with the old rotting staircase. These are places I visit with regularity, picking up where I left off in my last dream. I know I am dreaming and can become conscious in the dreams. I cannot control what happens, only what I do...whether that be flying, running, crying...whatever.

It's new, though...that my dreams are affecting me physically. A bit distressing. Is there something wrong with my brain? Why are my dreams so vivid and so real? So frequent and jarring? Its interesting.
For sure.



for sure for sure for sure