I woke this morning, clasping my hand to my throat. Feeling hoarse, as though I had been screaming all night. In my dream, I was.
I was with my sister, and we were arguing. I don’t know if it’s leftover sibling rivalry or what, but it seems to me sometimes that she and I battle more than other sisters.
In my dream, I was screaming at her about life’s unfairness. How she isn’t grateful enough for the gifts she’s been given, the luck that she’s been blessed enough to have. I was howling at the top of my lungs about her baby, how I deserved one, how I had worked for one, how hard I tried. How fantastically I failed to have one. How I lost the ones I had, that I killed my babies because my body betrayed me.
Sometimes I’m shocked this stuff is still there, buried deeper than I can probe. Latent misery waiting to be unlocked by a dream.
I woke this morning, upset and guilty that I would act as if she didn’t deserve her good fortune, her pregnancy. Saddened that once again, this monster rears its head.
I woke this morning, overwhelmed with grief.