Post dream notes:
I woke up and realised the spider was on my head. It was a nightmare, and as usual I woke up whimpering and in terror. This was now and as I write this, it feels deathly cold. This is a real dream.
I was talking as I awoke...
"She is trying to kill me" I said.
Except in the dream she wasn't. I was trying to kill me.
For the first time as I sat blinking in the dark, I realised that I was trying to rescue myself from death.
And so as I sat blinking in the dark after the nightmare, eyes shut in the room where the boy is. I realised that I was pretending in the dream. Pretending that I had no accountability in any of this, that it was someone else's fault.
The spider scuttles on my skull; a wretched squatter since 12 years old and now I'm going to wrench it off, but it won't go quietly.
The time She came towards me with a knife and cut herself. Down that passageway in that foggy memory. Was it real? I was perhaps six.
Blinking in the dark.
Are these memories real or imagined?
Forwards only, not backwards. Sabotage this page, that drawing, this idea. Delete that. It isn't worthy.
Glued memories, stuck.
I become the boy in my film, and the spider resumes as addiction. What were you thinking? That this monster can be beaten?
I utter a muffled croak, webs in my throat. I'm buried in a cocoon of doubt. I can't breathe.
by Paul Sinclair
This journal confronts childhood trauma, adult PTSD and anxiety disorder. There are also experiential themes of ACOA (being an adult child of an alcoholic).