Monday, August 26
I bolt upright, knocking my head on the bottom bunk. Tears stream down my face. My breath is fast and dense. My heart thumps heavily in my chest. This is bad. This is very, very bad. My head is killing me and it's not just from banging it on the wooden beam above me. I kick my legs and pound my arms into my feather-down bedding. No. No. NO. NO. NO. I kick until my muscles ache. Inside I'm screaming bloody murder, but I don't actually make a sound. I can't scare my parents or even my dog for that matter. Not now. Not at 6 AM. Not after what I've put them through. Not after the last year.
I can't believe I had another one. Why now? Things have been so much better. I've been better. I'm getting better. My insides wilt at the realization of what happened during the night. I close my eyes and count to ten. I focus on my breath until it feels normal again. My therapist taught me to inhale on a slow four count and exhale for five even longer ones. Breathe. It's weird to have to think about doing something that your body is supposed to do all on its own, but I'm getting used to it.
I lay back down and think about the dream. More like a nightmare really. I'm haunted by it. I shudder at the thought of it. I pull my Carolina blue covers to my chin. I need comfort. The memory of the dream is bleary, brown, and broken. A prosperous blue, green, and white Earth is nearly gone. It's been replaced with its own carcass. An empty, lifeless shell of a planet. An abandoned exoskeleton. Thick, coal colored clouds hover around the citizens like they are real life Pig Pens. There are no more waves to jump, but polluted, inky water fills the crumbling streets. No rainbow colored fish. Lost cities. Overcrowded temporary housing. The people and animals are baking in a relentless heat so dense and hot, it's like being smothered with a flannel blanket on the Solstice. Snippets of the starving, dejected people standing in endless lines waiting for rationed food and water settle in the corners of my mind. I'm alarmed at the thought of no fresh food and not clean enough water to drink. I kick my legs again in frustration. I pound my fists in fear.
What am I supposed to do with this? I feel sick. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I probably will by the end of the day; my headache is that ruthless. This is not what I need right now. School's just started. I've been really happy. Really content. My eyes fill up. I'm so pissed that this has happened again. Why can't I be normal? I look at the clock. I need to get going. I have to move. I have to keep going. I have to act normal, at least for now. I have no choice. I have to look alive as my mom says. I have to look alive because I am alive. Hard to take that for granted when you've glimpsed the alternative. Why? Why me? Why again? I lay back down. My parents will be up soon. They will be calling for me to join them to eat. They will panic if I'm not immediately responsive, although I don't blame them. I can do this. I have to.
With trepidation and commitment, I start my daily routine. I think about Dr. A and her advice. That is what Dr. A would say if she was here, "do what you know until you know what's next." Start with what you know. Start with what has worked in the past. I find my journal buried beneath my t-shirt collection, some dirty and some clean. They are stacked beside my bed. The pen is still stuck between the pages I wrote before I went to sleep last night. So naïve as to what the morning would hold. I note the date and time of the dream. I describe it in detail. I note my symptoms. Anxious sweating. Unrelenting headache. Ragged breath. I consider who should know about this. These are all things the doctors and scientists on my team will want to know. I jot down some possibilities. I try not to panic. I'm better now. I have the tools I need to get through this. I know I won't make it through school with this headache though. I need my mom for that one.
On cue, I hear her calling for me from downstairs. She lets me know it's time to eat. She waits anxiously, as always, for me to respond.
"I'm up, Mom. I'm up. Coming down in a few." I steady my voice, filtering out my irritation and fear.
YOU ARE READING
Queen Canary
Teen FictionSimone's dreams always come true, but not in the good way. This time she dreams climate change ruins the world. But she can save it. All she needs to do is find true love...and get the President to do so too. Between that, school, therapy, and makin...
