I hate waking up to the heater on full blast. I hate waking up with my throat drought-dry and my feet clammy and my head trying to surface my blanket so I can breathe right.
I hate waking up with the strange pains. In my dream, these long, thin, black sticks were being unsheathe and pushed down my throat and through my lungs. I knew that pain. The pain ...the one that traveled. The one that you feel all over your body, and ends at the tips of your fingers. It was that. Except the long sticks would go through me, and the images in my head were the people that I'd ever hurt, and some random girl playing the part of a girl I know was the one sticking them through me.
I still don't understand how something of an emotional state can be so physical. But it happens all the time. It's about time I just stop questioning it.
I hate waking up with the strange pains. In my dream, these long, thin, black sticks were being unsheathe and pushed down my throat and through my lungs. I knew that pain. The pain ...the one that traveled. The one that you feel all over your body, and ends at the tips of your fingers. It was that. Except the long sticks would go through me, and the images in my head were the people that I'd ever hurt, and some random girl playing the part of a girl I know was the one sticking them through me.
I still don't understand how something of an emotional state can be so physical. But it happens all the time. It's about time I just stop questioning it.
