Written from 2:54-3:59 A.M.
My mind has been anticipating this day past probably all days out of the year 2013 minus my birthday and Christmas. It will be the first time I finally meet her, who I've known for nearly four years now but have never seen once in real life. I guess online schools are just plain aggravating that way, but now...
All that frustration will melt to sheer joy.
Finally.
It's definitely been too long.
I get to the building and pause because I'm alone and a little confused as to how I got there...I can't drive yet, can I? Hastily and guiltily, my head - ever ready to offer my a delight, then sadistically take it back in moments - pushes me into a building.
And like a lamb, I obey without question.
I'm one of the first in. My mom and her friend have organized a SAT prep class so I had to come early like Mom's friend's sons who are there, sitting in the back row quietly. I glance uncertainly at the older of the two; he's frozen, leaning back in his seat, his arm on the windowsill. Is something wrong with them as well?
I know they're both very good at being still, but I feel like they should at least be breath--
My first notion that I'm not actually in the class is when my mind, unable to cease my instincts' curiosity, turns the clock forward thirty minutes to the starting of the class. From there, my mind is the master, shutting off parts of itself that question reality.
I am now deceiving myself completely.
I do not know up.
I cannot awake.
She is there. We do check homework. Things do move. But...
Homework?
It's the first day; there is no homework, no lessons, no red marks, no--
"CLOVE." I recoil at the aggressive voice, which my brain morphs to sound like the teacher's. "You do not argue with me."
The tan-haired woman storms towards me, looking like Zoe, an antagonist in a story I'm writing.
Writing?
My mind nabs that too.
BAM. I'm holding my notebook, the one that has pages of hand-written story pieces, most of which aren't yet in the computer. My teacher or Zoe or whatever mental-monster she is...she grabs the book from my hands, and, rather than destroy it, she takes it with her. In an air of superiority, she flops into a seat, and I, paralyzed, can only gape in horror as she rips apart raw, wholly unedited work with biting criticism. The class aids her in my work's destruction, and all my friends, my online friend included, vanish.
No.
Let me out.
There is, at some point, a 2-D dot in space where a line cannot travel through without my doubt. A dot when things are too terrifying or cold to be tolerated. In a final ditch effort, my mind transports me to a happier place, hoping that I'm stupid enough to let it offer me hope so it can gleefully annihilate my evanescent pleasure again.
But no.
I thrust at the barriers of my head. Exit, exit, exit. I will not...
LET ME OUT.
I won't go through this, I won't cry more. I must get up NOW.
I hear myself laugh in condescension.
Oh well...have it your way, my mind says resignedly with a happy sigh, There will be more nights.
NOW WAKE UP.
I stumble out of my bedroom, throw the bathroom lights on, and for a long moment, stare at the golden, glorious light. There is never enough light in my nightmares...
Finally, when my eyes are properly dazzled, I realize that exhaustion shakes me. I take another step forward and lean against the counter, gripping the edges to stop the trembling.
Tying my hair back, I knock the faucet up and soak my face and neck in the frigid water. I don't always get ones that real or bad; my head likes to space the good ones out nice and even to always remind me that it is the one in control.
Almost fueled my anger, my fist slams on the metal lever in front of me, and I glare at myself as water drips off my chin and nose. Ever since I professed Christianity, self-discipline slowly pervaded every part of my being, but I can never, I will never...I'm reconciled to the fact that I can't master my mind.
Dreams are bad when they take someone you love and make them a monster. Dreams are worse when they make you live in a surreal tomorrow so your sense of time is messed up when you are awake. Dreams are worst when they won't go away.
I'm awake; they're asleep now, so why don't they leave me alone?
Write on!
Clove
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