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December 22, 2010
I don't want to go to bed. I have nightmares.

A glue holds me to the bed. Stops my limbs from moving. Seals my eyelids shut.

Wake up! my mind screams.

I can't. I can't. I know I'm dreaming. I pull myself almost to the surface, but then sink back under. My father dies. My husband sits back and watches while I'm raped. He chases me with a hammer, and I hide in the closet. Monsters murder my unborn child.

Even dreams simply of fear and despair--without a plot, colorless--hold me tight in their grip. No escape.