Page 2 of Free to Dream
The shadows start to cross the floor. No! As much as I dislike the hopelessness I feel in the heat of the day, it’s the wicked night I dread with everything I am.
Maybe the sun will burn through so hot, it will burn me to ash.
Maybe I can suffocate under the smell.
I’d rather die than face the night again.
If there’s little hope in the day, there’s no hope in the night.
None.
I don’t know how I ended up here in this place called Jacks. I don’t know if there are others. I don’t know how to escape. I don’t know how to die. I don’t know… I don’t know… I don’t know…
When the night falls, I remember what I do know.
I do know how to fear. I do know how to cry. I do know pain.
I know how to scream.
My bloodcurdling scream wakes me from my dreams.
Breathing heavily, I pull my knees up to my chest and begin to rock, the motion instinctively comforting as I try to ignore the torrent of tears dripping down my face.
What did I do that was so wrong? Isn’t it enough that I’ll always be alone because no one will ever understand what happened to me?
My arms slide away from my knees and clutch around my neck as bile begins to churn in my stomach.
Is this my punishment for wanting to be “normal” and finding comfort in someone’s arms? To not be alone anymore?
I start taking deep breaths, just as my therapist had taught me.
One…Two…Three…Four…Five…Six…Seven…Eight…
As the panic starts to recede, I reach for the water on my nightstand. My hand is shaking so bad, I’m afraid the water in the glass is going spill on my bed.
I’m marked by what happened to me forever.
I have no escape.
I throw my legs over the side of my bed and stand on shaky legs. Walking to the bathroom, I flip on the light and shuffle to the vanity to stare at myself in the mirror. The memories from my dream leave me wondering if I’ve truly been living since I survived the storm of my past.
1
Cassidy
More days pass with night after night of lost sleep and more dreams.
Clutching my pillow to my chest, I watch from my bed as the midnight sky slowly lightens by indiscernible increments. A combination of purple and rose colors spread over the lake outside my bedroom window as I curl into myself for warmth and comfort.
Listening to Ray LaMontagne sing an old favorite of mine, I stare blankly at the pearlescent sky, knowing that there is nothing I can do to save myself from my thoughts.
Having no one, I always feel alone, even when I’m surrounded by people.
Rolling over, I turn on my bedside lamp and glance at the clock—it’s only a few minutes before six. While it’s not much earlier than I normally get up, Sundays are reserved for sleeping in. Since I don’t sleep, the luxury of lounging around on a Sunday morning lacks any excitement for me.
In the sanctuary I’ve created here in my home, I sit up in bed, pulling my pillow tighter for a moment longer, giving myself time to push away those indulgent feelings I so rarely allow.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I shiver in the early morning air as I step into my fleece-lined slippers. Rather than turn on the heat to ward off the chill inside my house—resulting from the crisp fall weather outside—I quickly grab my sweatshirt lying on the foot of my chaise and throw it on before heading downstairs to make coffee.
