I had an awful dream last night. I could feel it coming, and in my head, before what I knew was going to happen could happen, I changed it a little. Just a little. Just enough so that I was in control, and the things that followed were not quite as bad as they would have been. But it was horrifying, still.
I woke up with my heart pounding erratically and my breath coming in flutters and gasps. In a panic, squirming fitfully under the covers, I couldn't decide if it was worse to open my eyes or keep them closed. After a minute or so I found the wherewithall to turn on the light, and tried to calm down. How could I have thought that was better? I wondered. And then I realized: it's what I've been doing my whole life. Growing up, I would look at the things that happened to me, and I'd tell myself, at least it's not like this. It's not that bad.
But it was that bad. And sometimes it was worse.
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