I groaned as a dragged myself out of my worn-out clothes infested bed. "Another restless night," I signed out. I ended up staying awake most of the night after I woke up to the idea of the stage falling on me before I got my first free puff from a joint at the Green Day concert. Man, that would be a nightmare. I glanced at my phone to see multiple reminders from Nick about the concert and one from my aunt asking if I had gotten any sleep during the night. I shot her back a quick text to say no and that the medication wasn't working again. I sighed at the idea of her dragging me to another sleep test and psychologists to ask me what my nightmares "really meant." Usually I would end up glaring up at the stiff-necked man in a pressed white button up and neck tie so tight that he could faint from lack of oxygen at any moment and say, "I don't fucking know, that's why my aunt is paying you." My "absurd" language would push the psychologist to ask me questions about my personal life. "Do you believe there's a reason why your parents abandoned you?" "I don't care." "Do you believe your aunt wanted to actually take you in?" "If she didn't then why did she?" "Do you regret her taking you in?" "Hell naw. She makes the best brownies." And for some reason after his tenth question or so about my aunt and why my parents left me, he would ask me again, "What do you think your nightmares really mean?" To which I would roll my eyes and say, "It's your fucking job to find out."
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Another Sleepless Night
Ficción GeneralMax was eight-years-old when he found out why he was unable to sleep at night. While sitting in a stuffy hospital room the words rolled out of the doctor's mouth. "Max has sleep terrors which stems from his PTSD as a child." After that, Max forced h...
