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I had a nightmare last night. To put it short; i was packing up my bag in my grandmothers house. A tall woman appeared in my room, and she was a stalker. I had to kill her in self-defense. There was a rack of shelves of glass sculptures that my grandmother collects, and i grabbed the woman, pushing and swinging her in that direction till she collided with it and it toppled over ontop of her: killing her. After that, i had to walk over the broken glass to get back to my room. I tried brushing the glass out of my socks when one of my relatives came in. I tried to show him the woman’s body and explain what happened— i tried asking for help. But he was useless. We tried peeking out of the room so i could show him her, but she looked up, suddenly awake. She then tried getting up and i tried to get my relative to protect me. But he wouldn’t do anything.

I woke up after that. And i didn’t go to school. 

At 7, i went to get frozen yogurt with my dad. It was fun. I saw a pretty athletic girl while there.

I have a routine at night. I can’t relax, go to sleep or exist in my room without doing it. It’s loud, and disruptive and it hurts to do— but i have to do it. I feel guilty for it, it bothers my family. Sometimes i feel selfish, that im not taking in the consideration of my family. 

If someone addresses it, tells me to be quiet or whatnot, i freak out. I break down in sobs on the ground and hyperventilate on my bed till i can work up the courage to complete it all over again. That’s when i remember that i have no choice in the matter. I dunno. I wish i was normal. I wish i could exist in a room without locking the door or destroying its hinges.

It’s late. I’m listening to Marika Hackman. Logging off.

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