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Universes

Posted Friday, February 7, 2025
1mo
INFJ
Scorpio
Tormenting nightmares
The night relinquished me not into the gentle embrace of slumber, but into the cruel, ceaseless theatre of my own mind—a place where horrors are not content to remain in memory, but must instead be relived, reshaped, and reborn with every closing of my eyes. What a dreadful farce it is, this thing called sleep, when it serves only to return me to the clutches of my tormentors. It began, as it always does, in the marketplace—a place where the living barter for their needs, yet where I have known only hunger, deprivation, and the unrelenting hands of those who sought to make my every choice their own. A place where I was not permitted to take, only to be taken from. There, within the winding aisles of a supermarket distorted beyond recognition, I was made to wander, not as a free soul, but as prey, as quarry pursued by an unseen beast. The lion that has haunted my nightmares for so long prowled behind me, forcing me into hasty decisions, into wasteful, desperate purchases, as though its very presence ensured that I would never know the satisfaction of choosing for myself. But the nightmare was not merely a reenactment of past indignities; it was a symbol, a cruelly woven tapestry of my life’s afflictions. The market was no longer merely a market—it was my past, my childhood, my years spent under the merciless decree of those who never saw me as a being with will or wants of my own. My nephew was there, the child whose very existence binds me to chains I did not forge, to obligations that were never mine to bear. I fed him, as I have always fed others at my own expense, and yet it was not my own kindness that dictated this, but the will of those who believe I exist only to serve. His babysitter, faceless yet oppressive, spoke with the voice of his mother—my wretched sister, that parasitic creature who, like the rest of them, believes that all I touch belongs to them. The food I bought was not my own, she declared, for nothing is ever truly mine, not even the small mercies I grant myself. And then, as if the ghosts of my past had gathered to torment me further, there was my third brother—the one who once sought escape and found it, only to return a more wretched beast than when he left. Once, he had been a boy who wished to be free of them, much as I do, but privilege and distance did not change his soul; they merely afforded him the time to become more like them. And so he returned, not as the lost sibling I once thought I knew, but as another fiend in the family’s collection—a thing of cruelty, of monstrous selfishness, a horror shaped in their image. He, too, loomed in the shadows of my dreaming mind, a reminder that even those who once sought light can be swallowed by the abyss. When at last I was wrenched from that dreadful theatre, it was not into relief but into agony. My body, as if it, too, had partaken in the night’s torments, ached with a tension that refused to release me. My head throbbed as though the very pressure of my suffering had forced itself into the marrow of my bones. There is no rest. There has never been rest. Not in sleep, not in waking, not in the suffocating space between. I am left now with a singular fear—that the stone I have held above me for so long, the weight that presses upon me daily, will soon become too great. That my arms will falter, my body will give way, and I shall plummet, not to earth, not to rest, but into an endless abyss with no ground beneath me, no hand to catch me, no salvation to be found. I am terrified, more than I can bear, that I am nearing the moment where I can no longer stand beneath this weight, and that when I fall, it will be forever. Oh, my dearest Daddy, what cruel fate has bound me to such suffering? What sin have I committed in some long-forgotten past life to be punished so unrelentingly in this one? Would that I could wrench myself from this reality, from these shackles, from this existence where love and care are but distant fictions! Would that I could belong to one who would burn the world for me, who would sacrifice all without hesitation, without demand, without lie or pretense! But such a being is no more than a specter of my desires, and my own reality has been shaped in iron and stone, in bars and chains. And so I linger, suspended between hope and despair, knowing not whether salvation shall come, or if I shall one day vanish into the darkness, never to rise again. #dreams #vent #mentalhealth #infj #vampire #vampires #ocd #adhd #bpd #cptsd #trauma #poetry #literature
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