As
we start walking up the driveway towards the garage a weight starts to fill my
body, slowing me down. It’s like my feet
are made with lead. My heart starts
racing and no matter how deep I breathe I can’t catch my breath. It all strikes me at once. This is exactly how those dreams start
off. Or more like how that dream starts
off. It’s the same dream, every night,
the same darkness. I don’t want to go
inside. More blood and pain waits behind
those doors.
“Adam! Honey, what’s wrong?”
The
sound of my mom’s voice broke up the overwhelming fear that was starting to
grip my body for a split second. I
hadn’t even realized that I had become frozen in my tracks. I tried to say something back, something to
let her know that I was fine, that everything was ok. But I couldn’t muster any words from my vocal
chords. All I could do was shake my head
back and forth, barely moving at that.
My mother dropped her purse and my bags from the hospital that she was
carrying and ran over to me.
“Adam,
tell me what’s wrong! Is it your
head? Are you in pain?”
“It’s
the dream… the dream… this is how the dream starts.”
“What
dream, honey? What dream are you talking about?”
What am I suppose to say to her? I couldn’t tell her that every night for the
past three months I’ve dreamed that she and everyone I love dies at a party
like this. That the dream started off
just like this, and shortly after we walk inside I’d go on a murderous rampage,
stabbing everyone in sight, everyone in my house, at the behest of my cat no
less. These are the kinds of things
those questions the shrink stopped by to ask were looking for. Specifically, “have you been having any night
terrors?” I just answered no to
everything because I’d be damned if I spent another night in the God forsaken
hospital. I kept a brave face then so I
can do it now.
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