meaningless essays about me
There was a time when I was young, a long time before my teens, I used to have the most horrific nightmares. Many nights I woke up, my heart pounding, seeing shadows and unrecognizable creatures dancing around my room. I would either lie paralyzed in bed, the sheets up to my chin, sweat slowly damping my nightgown until the whole mattress was damp. Or I would start and jump out of the bed to get out of my room as fast as possible - only to find the door was gone. I would stumble around in the dark, convinced that I would certainly be the first child to die of a heart attack. I still remember those nights vividly even almost thirty years later. How I thought I was going crazy because I was not able to find a way out of my tiny room that I knew so well during the daytime.
During puberty, the nightmares I had as a child stopped and instead anger and sorrow overcame me each night when I was left alone with my thoughts. I sobbed and cried in my bed until my pillow was not just damp but wet and dripping. At some point, when I felt most desperate, I started talking to whatever entity might have been listening “up and above”, pleading to switch places with someone who actually really wanted to live and instead letting me fall asleep and never wake up again. The next morning, I was even angrier, because apparently no one was listening and there was nothing to be done about it. I had to live another day.