Bittersweet Hell.

It's a Sunday. 8:00 p.m.
I finished all my homework and am sitting on the couch watching a movie.  Looking at the clock every 10 minutes, counting down on how much time I have left before I fall asleep.

My life is average. I wake up at 6, pee, brush my teeth, take a shower, do my make-up, hair, I get dressed, pack my backpack, and head to school around 7:21.
I come home from school around 2:32 everyday, grab a granola bar, and head to work at the elementary school. I stay there until 4:15 and then come home and eat. I put off doing my homework until 8 that night and finally settle in and finish it up before tomorrow. Once I finish the homework and can't put it off anymore, I get ready for bed.

I pray every night. Sorry to get religious on you. But I feel like it's an important detail to this story. I pray that I will be able to have a sleepless night. Literally. Because in my average life, I have dreams. Not the: I hope to be president one day, kind of dream. But the dreams that mothers wish are sweet. And the dreams that sheep try to count. I have dreams. And I have nightmares.

One day, sleeping turned into my enemy.

When I fall asleep, I dream of everything and anything. I have dreams that don't make sense. I have dreams that make me smile. Dreams that make me wish. And some that make me wait.

The catch: they all come true. Literally.

If my dreams come true, my nightmares come true. It stated off as a bittersweet gift. Turned out to be walking Hell. I won the lottery -- All my friends left me. I received a kiss from my crush -- My parents die. I could never win. Until that one night.


It was a Sunday. 8:00 p.m.
I finished all my homework and was sitting on the couch watching a movie.  Looking at the clock every 10 minutes, counting down on how much time I have left before I fell asleep.

I keeled down to pray, for that sleepless night I wish upon every night. I drag myself in bed and fight to keep my eyes open. I loose. My eyes close, and that's where my story began.

Did I have a dream or nightmare?

Am I going insane? Or is this all true?

Will I ever be cured?  

Will I live long enough to figure out my reality? 

Help me catch my dreams.

Dialogue.

1. What?

2. I didn't say anything.

1. Oh.

2. You cold?

1. No, I'm okay

2. Kay.

1. K, look, I'm-

2. Don't worry bout it.

1. I really am sorry

(Long pause)

2. (sigh) me too.

1. Do you wanna talk bout it?

2. I just, sigh, I don't know.

1. I made a mistake. I'm sorry

2. I know. I'm sorry too.

1. I'll try harder next time.

2. No, No, I mean, you did your best right?

1. I guess.

2. I'm sorry.

1. Me too. 

2. We're almost there.

1. Kay.

2. Hey, it really is fine.

1. I know, I know, I just. (sigh)

2. What?

1. I just hate disappointing you, I guess.

2. Hey. Look at me. You didn't disappoint me. 

1. I messed up.

2. I did too.

1. How did we get here?

2. I don't know. 

Empty Post.

My music is too loud. My back is stiff from sitting in the same position for hours looking at the screen, too afraid to write anything without a prompt. I know your judging me right now.

I know your secret.

I've been reading everyone's blogs, trying to find inspiration. But all I'm accomplishing is the feeling of longing. Of pity. Knowing I'll never be as good.

I'm not enough.

This post won't work. It won't be what I dream of. I won't reread this, because I know there's no point. No point in fixing my grammar mistakes, or wondering if I'm making sense, or if it "flows." Whatever that means.

I wish I could shine.

Not too shiny though. I don't want to make you blind. Well, maybe. . . If you were blind, you wouldn't have to read this post. Therefore, you wouldn't be a witness to this writing funeral.

Why would I make this any longer, if I know you probably already stopped reading. Why would I want to talk about enjoying life, or living to the fullest, or maybe even death, if you're just going to think what YOU want?

You suck.

Stop thinking about yourself, and the blogs that are "good." Start listening to others. Help me shine too.

My Release.

Sleep.

Why do you even care? What difference would it make if I sleep or dream? They don’t matter anyways, but why do you care? Thanks though for your ever encouraging words. But whatever. I don’t even know what I am supposed to be writing. I think I just want to prove that I can type fast.

I don’t know. Stop talking. I know. Who listens to my thoughts? No one. But I don’t mind. I really don’t. Okay, well maybe I do. But who needs to know? Who would like to know I can type fast? All they will ever see is the finished product after I’m done typing. If they even finish reading what I have to say. Probably not. Why do I care? Why do I think? Should I even be human? What if I weren't would you care? Would you call the police and have them take me to rock bottom? Is that even a place? Trees. Wait, what? I don’t know and I probably won’t ask or delete what I just said. Why am I typing again? I can’t remember what my goal of this paper was. Maybe it’s to just take up time from work, because I’ve been sitting here for the last hour and a half. Staring at nothing and thinking about typing fast. And if I’m going to mess this up and get fired. It’s always a possibility. Why is there a bunch of green markings on this page? Can you see those or do they disappear like everything else I accomplish? Why do people erase my achievements, but never my mistakes? Do I really matter that much that you have to find everything wrong with me, to find something good with you? I would feel ashamed if I were you.

If you didn't know, this post was about sleep.

Goodnight.

I'd be Lying.

Won't you let me give you a hand?

I have an extra I'm not using

Won't you let me lighten your load?

I mean after all your legs are shaking

And I can understand

all I need is your hand

Oh, won't you take the fall?

It is me after all

Won't you let me match your stride?

I can slow down if you want to

We can handle it side by side

What do you say girl, don't you want to?

And I can understand

All I need is your hand

Oh, won't you take the fall?

It is me after all

I'd be lying if I ran away

I'd be lying if I ran away

And so I'll stay

But won't you let me by your man?

I'm strong enough you know that I can

Be the one to ease your mind

Ease your mind

And I can understand

All I need is your hand

Oh, won't you take the fall?

It is me after all

I'd be lying if I ran away

I'd be lying if I ran away

And so I'll stay

There is not much that you can do

To get me to run away from you

There is not much that you can do

To get me to run away from you

Courage.

Would you walk into a burning building?

Would you walk into the burning building if a loved one was trapped inside?

Would you walk into the burning building if a stranger was trapped inside?

While sitting around a campfire we all say that smoke follows beauty. We all move to get out of the way when the smoke blows towards us. I love the smell of campfires. But I hate the leftover smell they leave the next day, when you're in your clean house. The heroes in this picture smell like fire and will smell like fire the next day. And the next. They don't get leftovers. They walk into burning buildings for strangers.

Firefighters get paid as much as teachers. So how come we always hear teachers joke and complain about payment, but firefighters say nothing?

I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they do complain, and I never hear it. But what I do know, is that these men and women are heroes. They take courage to a new level. My courage is talking to someone in a new class and whether to get up in the mornings or not. They walk into burning buildings for strangers.

I know I'm not the best writer. I know I'm probably not the blog, that people check to see if I've posted something new. Sometimes I focus too much on the: I suck. And, I'm never going to be as good as her. Or as smart as him. So I literally might not be walking into burning buildings weekly, but I am being myself. And that's courage to me. I am walking into burning buildings. I get burned. But my skin grow back stronger.