Dream Journal

(An old, worn notebook flips open to a seemingly random entry. The date is around 6 years ago.)
 
 
I keep having nightmares. The meds worked, at first- but now it's worse than before.
 
Therapy isn't an option, which leaves me with whatever bullshit I could find online. Apparently, journaling helps. I don't know exactly how, but I'm desperate enough, so here goes:
 
 
Night 1:
Nightmare. Don't remember much.
 
Night 2:
Nightmare. Drowned in bleach.
 
Night 3:
Nightmare. Bleach again.
 
Night 4:
Nightmare. Killed a man, took his shoes. In hindsight, not very scary.
 
Night 5:
Bleach. Again.
 
Night 6:
I... dreamed about a kid. My kid, to be specific- at least, it was my kid in my dream. I don't know how I knew, they looked nothing like me, but I just *did*.
 
I don't have any actual children. I would know if I did, and I've gone to some lengths to make sure of that fact.
 
I don't have a child. But I was looking at them.
 
Night 7:
Bleach.
 
Night 8:
The child came back. I feel nothing but terror looking at it. It isn't doing anything wrong... It was just eating cereal, or maybe oatmeal? Can't remember.
 
Night 9:
Nothing.
 
Night 10:
Bleach.
 
Night 11:
Bleach.
 
Night 12:
My kid is back again. This time, we were at a park, I think. I pushed it back and forth on the swings. It was... actually kinda nice?
 
Night 13:
 
Another kid dream. Went out for ice cream. Dog ate too many sprinkles and exploded into confetti, but I don't think that's a psychological thing, I just saw a really weird ad before going to bed.
 
Night 14:
Bleach.
 
Night 15:
Crab chasing me??
 
Night 16:
My daughter is not real. My daughter is not real. My daughter is not real.
 
She stares at me, from across the table. She grins, toothy and wide, happy. "Go fish!"
 
She stares at me expectantly. I draw a card. I look around, seeing a house I both recognize and don't. Photos of her are hung like an artist's gallery of memories, except those memories aren't real, because I have no daughter.
 
Yet I remember her, clear as day, like a reflection in a koi pond.
 
I place two cards down. I ask her name. "Go fish!" she yells, giggling.
 
I place two cards down. I ask her what she wants. "Ace of hearts?"
 
I hand her an ace of spades. That's all I can give. It's all I'm willing to give.
 
I place two cards down. I ask her for a 10 of hearts. She hands me one, and I realize that she is ten years old. I look down at the card, and there is a heart for every single grain of sand in existence.
 
She plays two cards down. She asks, "Why are you scared of me? Don't you love me?"
 
I answer. "I am terrified because I love you."
 
I wake up, and mourn something before it even had a chance to start existing.
 
Night 17:
Nothing
 
Night 18:
Nothing
 
Night 19:
I stare into a mirror. My reflection is not my own. I let it consume me whole.
 
(Flipping through the rest of the book reveals nothing but ink stained pages. For now, at least.)