There is a mirror hanging on my bedroom wall.

It’s got a sturdy pink frame with little purple and white flowers, and it’s almost as tall as I am. My mom likes it, but I wish my parents would take it down. I really don’t like the way my reflection looks at me.

I have to bury myself under all my covers at night so I don’t see her staring; eyes half covered by her tawny, tangled hair; a huge, Cheshire Cat smile spread across her blurry face as if it was drawn there by a knife. Still, it’s hard to sleep, just knowing that she’s there.

Some nights she follows me around in the dark, as I creep down the creaking stairs to get some water from the fridge, sneak across the hallway to use the bathroom. Her strange footsteps patter behind me, echoing through the hall. Clop, clop, clop. I whirl around, eyes wide and wild, trembling and cold with sweat, but I never see her there. It’s just me, an empty hallway, and the pitch black night.

So, I try to go back to bed. But then I glance across the room, and the mirror is smiling at me again.

Should I shut up? Am I being too out of touch? If I am at home, why is everything screaming so much? My head is hurting, it makes me want to cry I want to run, but I can hardly fly

And I can't analyze what is my problem Can't really find the point where it all starts, I just go by, blocking up my hearing And stopping my own mind from shutting up

They scream at me: the walls, the floor, the ceiling Did I just heard a trumpet in my room? Can it be real? Can it be a problem? By day, I feel approaching silent doom

I feel so weird, like I was not suppose to Be in this world like this, or maybe not at all They say I am okay, my mind is screaming It says to me that I do not belong

Every child at some time fears the darkness of their room. I feared the things that came while asleep. Night after night, dying, my mind creating pain where none existed. Wake up sobbing, gasping, wipe the tears do it all again. Vivid nightmares, strange for a seemingly sheltered child. A crushing fear of abandonment that one floating would give. Many adults to care an love but not one to call Mom or Dad. Moving into a house. Two stone lions. Very realistic. After dark, they come alive, padding on silent deadly paws. Upstairs downstairs, they find me. I can’t bear to see them but I’d cry to leave, and isn’t that a cruel irony. Special they call it, happens to very few. Brain creates dream, phantom pain lets me die watch the ruins. Even now I walk down the left side of the stairs, they can’t see me then. It sounds foolish, even I don’t understand, running from a pain that will fade a short time after waking.

(This is kind of all over the place, sorry. Basically I’ve had very detailed intense dreams since I was tiny. My brain will actually let me die in dreams and I watch whatever happens to my body after. I also can have something happen in a dream, cause pain, and I’ll still feel it like 5-10 min after being awake.)

When I was younger, I didn’t have nightmares. Having ‘nightmares’ implies that there were dreams that were good. No, when I was younger I was plagued with dreams; Bad dreams, scary dreams, dreams that I would wake up crying to, call them what you want. But it was every night, so they were just dreams. For them to be bad dreams, there would have to be good ones to compare with. I can’t remember ever having a good dream.

There were nights that I would dream that someone in my family died, often falling down a deep pit. Each time I would be at the rim of the pit, so close to being able to save them. But I couldn’t. And I would be forced to watch them fall until they hit the ground. And then I would start crying and would wake up sobbing.

There were dreams that I would be outside with a younger sibling and out of nowhere, a wild animal would appear. I’d always make it into the house, but my younger sibling wouldn’t. Once I was inside, I would peak out to see them crying as the animal stalked closer. I was the oldest, so it was my job to protect them. I would run out and try to save them, to give them enough time to get inside. Those dreams normally ended with me getting mauled or bitten as I fought. I would normally wake up to those spots hurting, whether it be from a growing pain or something else.

And then there were the nights that I dreaded the most, they were the most common and had the most variety. Each dream would include me and a realistic, terrifying tyrannosaurus rex that was bent on murdering me. Sometimes it was in my house, my grandma’s house, or on a rainy night at a dock. Sometimes it would include other people that would be eaten. Sometimes I was running, others I was hiding. No matter what I did, I was caught and eaten. I would wake up as the dinosaur was biting down on me, my heart pounding and too terrified to make any noise. Most nights I was too scared to move, too worried that my dream would come to life and find me. On a few nights, I’d seek refuge in my parents’ room, sneaking silently across the house with a racing pulse, worried that the T-rex from my dreams would see me.

If you’ve ever watched Jurassic Park, you’d understand a bit of how those nights went. But the dinosaurs in my dreams were smart and were looking for me specifically. They were determined to ruin my nights. And they succeeded. I’ve never felt as much terror as I did in those dreams, even to this day. Waking up paralyzed with fear, scared to look around any corner at night. That’s what started my fear of the dark. It wasn’t the dark itself, but what could be hiding in the dark, lurking and waiting for its chance to attack.

Once upon a time there was a little me.

Now little me had already watched Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter.

My twin decided to watch the Zombies movie that came out so I joined.

Right in the middle of the movie when the zombie guy goes zombie on the football field I cried.

And cried. And cried.

Then I had nightmares for two straight days.

I vowed never to watch that movie again.

Well I did but skipped through the zombies out part. Later in life.

Also I'm writing this story laying on the ground with a new stuffed animal I got because I'm the most mature teen ever. 😎

I was always scared that you’d leave me. But now I know I don’t need you anymore…

You can’t joke with an anxious child They’re prone to take everything seriously To the person who told me when I was only eight That if a plane crashed into our classroom It would kill us all instantly Do you know that my chest still tightens Anytime I hear the low whir Of an airplane passing over?

I know my mother meant no harm When I crawled into the empty supermarket shelf She urged me to get out quickly Before someone comes along and tries to buy me I wonder if she knows I still prefer Grocery store aisles with nobody in them So no one can get the wrong idea

At summer camp, we gathered around The bunks at half past midnight Telling the spookiest stories we knew Someone mentioned a maniac living in the woods Sneaking in at night and watching us sleep We all laughed, but I tossed and turned all night Even now, the smallest bump in the dark Makes my breathing stop And my eyes fly open

I should be able to let these things go Childhood superstitions mean nothing at all You are a grown woman Confident and mature I repeat to myself But I don’t believe it Inside I am still that anxious child Who can’t take a joke

In my nightmare I’m a balloon Floating upward
Out of control Gripped by the vastness Of nothing Lost in the sky Irreversibly detached from Everyone and everything No connections Frantic in silence Scream stuck inside Floating weightless Forever alone Waiting to pop Heading to die Terrified Because
Who am I? If I Am

Untethered

My Uncle Pete, as expected, drove into our tree-lined farmyard. I felt myself sag as the tires drove puffs of dust into the air. Dad walked rapidly from the house, getting into the back of the blue 1949 Ford coupe just as it rumbled to a halt. Uncle Pete immediately pumped on the gas pedal, leaving a cloud of dirt in his wake. I knew they would pick up Uncle Ed, who lived just down the road. They were headed for the Gretna Beer Parlour.

“DAD!”

“What now?”

“THERES A SPIDER”

“Again?”

“IM GONNA DIE!”

“Really?”

“HURRY IP AND KILL THE GODDAMN THING”

“Language”

“ILL BE WORRYING ABOUT MY LANGUAGE AFTER I ESCAPE THIS NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE”

“Alright, alright. I’ve got it”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, do you want to see it?”

“NO GET THAT CREEPY THING AWAY FROM MEEEEE”