I had a horrible dream last night...
I was alone, utterly alone. Don't get me wrong, there were people around, but I was too ashamed to honestly communicate with them. Every time I opened my mouth, lies bubbled out. The guilt, self-loathing and deprecation consumed me. Surely, they all saw through the deception that thinly veiled the monster before them. How could they not?
I was despicable. The idea of looking another human being in the eye made my skin crawl; nails on a chalkboard. The mistaken glance of my own reflection in a storefront window summoned the reflex aversion of my eyes, down and away. Every mirror in my home stood as a towel-covered reminder of my own despicability.
What happened to me? I remembered a time, long before, of freedom and light, with days full of color and nights filled with peace. When slumber meant, "going to sleep" at night and "waking up" in the morning, rather than, "passing out" and "coming to." When had that innocence of childhood departed? I couldn't remember it leaving. Yet, here I stood, a shell of my former self; physically, emotionally, and spiritually bankrupt. Muddled in weakness.
I hated myself. I hated each lying, loathing, fraudulent, pathetic, conniving, cowardly, disgusting inch of my singular form. My every waking moment spent fighting 'gainst the overwhelming instinct to crawl into a dark place and forfeit my own vile existence.
I was utterly alone. Entangled in a mire of despair. Sad. Dying.
When I woke up, I realized it wasn't a dream at all... It was my life 11 years ago.
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