PTSD: My Secret Struggle
Chapter One: Nightmares
I have these dreams...these nightmares. Half the time I can't really tell what's happening but I can feel the hands all over me. Crawling on top of me as I try to wrap the blankets around me tighter as if they were bullet proof and can protect me from anything. But still, I wake up wanting to scream, almost every night but for some reason I can't. It gets caught in my throat and as I think about my nightmare tears come rushing down my face. I don't ever remember having these dreams, no not until a secret was told. However, for now the dreams are subtle. They scare me, they frighten me and I don't know what they mean, but I do know that they feel all too real.
Can that even be possible though? Can a dream make you feel like it's real? Can the feeling of knowing this is something you should remember, through a dream, be real?
From all the sleepless nights I don't even remember who I am anymore. I don't know what's going in my life, as I lose track of time as my nights turn into days and my days turn into nights. I can't help but find relief in the pain killers that take away the splitting headache and the knife that gives me so much release as I rake it across my skin. This is the only thing I find comfort in and no one knows about it. Everyone around me is shielded from my masochistic ways and my suicidal tendencies. Half the time feel like I have adapted a whole new breed of depression that sinks in slowly but somehow knows when to where a mask to fool everyone into thinking that everything is okay.
It's scary though to think, that after I have lost a boyfriend, and possible a friend, I learn of these dark secrets that somehow strike something in me. I feel myself begin to get dirty as they talk me about their troubles, I remember bits and pieces of a face, a face I know I should trust. Someone who was always there for me, a face that seems to look much closer to the devils than someone who was suppose to love you.
The beginning of my 8th grade career, and I've already begun to have problems well beyond my years.
Happy 13th, Amelia Fiore.
Can that even be possible though? Can a dream make you feel like it's real? Can the feeling of knowing this is something you should remember, through a dream, be real?
From all the sleepless nights I don't even remember who I am anymore. I don't know what's going in my life, as I lose track of time as my nights turn into days and my days turn into nights. I can't help but find relief in the pain killers that take away the splitting headache and the knife that gives me so much release as I rake it across my skin. This is the only thing I find comfort in and no one knows about it. Everyone around me is shielded from my masochistic ways and my suicidal tendencies. Half the time feel like I have adapted a whole new breed of depression that sinks in slowly but somehow knows when to where a mask to fool everyone into thinking that everything is okay.
It's scary though to think, that after I have lost a boyfriend, and possible a friend, I learn of these dark secrets that somehow strike something in me. I feel myself begin to get dirty as they talk me about their troubles, I remember bits and pieces of a face, a face I know I should trust. Someone who was always there for me, a face that seems to look much closer to the devils than someone who was suppose to love you.
The beginning of my 8th grade career, and I've already begun to have problems well beyond my years.
Happy 13th, Amelia Fiore.