Okay, so I’m a childish freak.
I really hate some parts of living alone. Mostly waking up screaming.

I woke up a few minutes ago in my kitchen, having turned on every light between there and bed. I was screaming. I heard the guy upstairs holler at his girlfriend to shut down the shower for a second. I was standing on the tile, staring at the wall behind my bed with a fascinated horror, my heart pounding out of my chest.

All I remember is that there was a spider. The dream was so realistic that I shook out all my bedding (shakily, my hands are really unsteady) and moved to the couch. I know there isn’t a spider near my pillows, but I can’t sleep in there right now anyway.

Why screaming? I don’t know. Why spiders? I don’t know. Why fear of the dark? Well, that I know, but it still doesn’t all compute. And at 2:00am, there’s no one to call. All my comfort people are comfortably asleep (drat you, —, where are you when I need you?) and I know that waking them up would just cause their hearts to race unnecessarily.

Have you ever wondered why waking up with a night terror never actually stops your heart, or causes a heart attack? Sometimes I wonder what that feels like. I hope it doesn’t hurt. I hope you never realize what’s happening. I hope there’s no moment of panic as you realize you’re losing grip on this earth.
I’m so tired.

Is it really not allowed, this one night of blessed peace?
Can I come home now too?


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