Eat your heart out, Jung.

Dreamt cars were tearing me apart in the middle of a busy boulevard. This was seconds after my body was flung from a bus. Woke up feeling like I was on my way to a funeral. I ceremoniously brushed my teeth, brushed my hair. Put on my mother's shroud and went to class. Spoke some words, lost my train of thought.

On the drive home I realized something important while I was crying: this isn't my funeral, it's the one for all the people I've ever loved who have never existed.

This was not the first time I had been run over. In preschool I vividly remember staring calmly up into the sun as I was getting pummeled by wheels. But who is to say I survived? I've asked my mother to remember that day with me, but I always forget her recounting of it. I search through my brain for evidence that this trauma really did occur, but I can't see myself with bloody lips or broken teeth. What are these events that never happened, and where are they from. Who is this person that I spent my days with, and did he resemble you in any way.



I am terrified to find out what it is that I am hiding from myself, so I live a fantasy?
WHAT THE FUCK.