Dreaming is not a good thing. My dreams were riddled with things last night. I saw a city burn. I watched Liam love another woman. I was beaten until my vision was blurry. I remember feeling incredulous that in a dream, one's vision can blur. I remember crying. I cried and cried, standing on a balcony watching people jumping from burning buildings. I remember trying to kill myself, too, but being stopped over and over because Liam was there, holding me back. But then he'd beat me. He beat me and beat me and beat me and I remember how much that pain wracked my body. He nearly killed me. But then when I tried to die, he said no. And I just watched as this fire raged throughout the city and all the people jumped to their deaths and I knew I was trying to kill myself because when I died, they would all stop dying. The fire would stop blazing and everyone would be free. But Liam kept me there, alive, and I couldn't break free from his grasp. And he would beat me, then run away and touch heads with another woman, a fierce lion of a woman, and I hated everything. And in my pain I broke free and drowned myself in a pool of water.
I'm on medication, to help me sleep, after the surgery I just had. I needed some new phalanges. New fingers and maybe I can play the guitar! But, for some reason, this surgery has left me unable to sleep. Not for some reason. For a reason. New fingers. A reminder of the one piece of me I didn't burn. Who fucking taxidermies their own fucking finger? Me. So they gave me sleeping pills and pain killers and here I am, recovering, and I can't stop having this fucking dream.
I miss you, my Liam.