Dreams.
Realistic dreams can be the best feeling when you wake up, or the worst. Lately, my realistic dreams have been difficult to wake up to.
Last night I dreamed that my brother committed suicide to be with my mom. I'm not convinced that he didn't represent me and how I feel. Sometimes it feels like getting out of bed is too difficult. Probably sounds like I am just a whiny little girl, and I know whatever I feel, my dad feels ten times more. I would never cause my family anymore pain than they have suffered - at this point, it's a daydream. An escape. To be with her. To see her smile. People say that suicides don't go to heaven. I don't think that's necessarily true. And everyone says she's okay, and in a better place, but I'm not. I'm not in a better place at all.
When I get in the car, there's a small hope that I get in an accident. When I lay in bed, there's an inkling of an idea of a home invasion gone wrong. When I walk into work on the bad side of town - will there be bullets today?
I don't want to die. I would, however, welcome it. Does that sound weird? Or conflicted?
Welcome to my brain.
The monsters are buried down deep inside, you never know when they're satisfied.
