As far back as I can remember, I had a dreaded fear of night. Not so much “night” itself but what it represent. Night meant bedtime. Bedtime meant dreaming. Dreaming meant nightmares. Those nightmares left me with so much fear when I woke. Even if I couldn’t recall the dream, the eerie feeling I had, stayed with me throughout my day.
It effected me so much, consumed my mind to the point, nighttime was all I thought about. I would ask my friends (maybe kindergarten) if they had good dreams or bad dreams. I asked anyone, everyone! Every single one of them said they had good dreams. Why was I having such terror at night? Why me? What was wrong with me? … I would wonder.
This started my obsession with the dream world. I just couldn’t avoid it. My dreams were nothing like I read about. I could remember such detail. I could feel physical pain.
By the time I was about 12 years old, the bad dreams stopped. I cannot say why exactly. I think its because I didn’t have the same fears as a small child. I would try different things in my dreams. I was learning, with the help of my dreams. I could make myself wake up by shaking my head in my dream. If something was chasing me, I would stop where I was and it would vanish… Oh the things I became capable of….
•Shauna-Marie as Loveliestdoll• 