Nightmares.

The nightmares are back. It's becoming increasingly harder to keep myself awake for fear of what lays within my dreams, and my heart flutters at the thought of unconsciousness overtaking me again tonight. I don't know what to do to keep the terrors at bay; for awhile I was certain they were gone. Now that they're back, I'm at a loss for what to do. Try to cope with the grotesque images my subconscious thinks up while sleeping? I can't just convince myself that they aren't real; a writer's mind makes everything imaginary into a reality, almost like a memory. There's no escaping it.

Last night the blurred vision of his face became so sharp and clear I cringe to recall it. He sneered, chuckled darkly, and gripped my wrists so tight it stung. He didn't let go, easing me back into the pillows, kissing my neck before pulling my arms above my head with one hand and reaching up my leg with the other. Caressed my hips and lifted my shirt up, whispering mock-soothing words into the crook of my neck as I shivered violently underneath him. I felt all of it. Every little detail was exaggerated insanely; his hot breath on my chest, his fingernails in my thighs, his chapped lips on mine. Everything was so real. Too real. The pain was real. The heartbreak was incredibly, painfully real. The emotional upset was the most real of all. I woke up sorer than when I went to sleep and physically unable to keep myself from shaking. I barely held the tears in.

Today I am just tired. Not exhausted, but tired and sleepy and still unable to think of something happier. I'm trying. Desperately trying to rid myself of those disgusting images and that nasty, want-to-rip-my-skin-off-so-i-can-finally-be-clean feeling that I haven't felt in a long, long while. Most of all I want to see Connor, and feel him hug and kiss me, and be happy again. Maybe tonight my dreams won't be so bad. I'm not planning on it, though. I'll lay in bed with knots in my stomach, willing myself to keep my eyes open, when suddenly unconsciousness will creep up on me and I'll fall face-first into a terror that I don't doubt will make me cry in the morning. I'm hoping my predictions are wrong. Cross your fingers.