I travel down a lonely road. The door to my world is hard to find. It is hidden in a secret place. Seldom has it been found. Seldom has it been entered. My world is infused with violent winds and tempestuous seas. The skies are grey and the rainfall is heavy. Few have sojourned here for any length of time. I am a man who has come to terms with my reality and existence. My choices are few; I must continue on. I realize the futility in looking back. The door to my world is more difficult to find and grows smaller and smaller by the season. I have resided here many years. The road is harder to travel as the years go by. There was a hurricane here just two seasons ago. I have survived the winter, and must prepare for the spring and summer. Maybe I will have a visitor in the fall.
I dreamt I wasn’t afflicted. I dreamt I was in a vast and beautiful garden. There was peace and tranquility. There were no tears. No sorrow. I dreamt that I had triumphed over my fears. I dreamt that I had a sense of normality. I dreamt that there was a cessation to the war that rages in my mind. I dreamt that I didn’t have to endure the pain of my childhood. I dreamt my mother hadn’t died. I dreamt that cancer hadn’t caused my grandmother great suffering in her last days. I dreamt that she hadn’t suffered at the hands of depression. I dreamt that I had escaped my silent torment.
I awaken to my reality.