somehow

cant sleep. hardly can eat. irregular breathing.
my limbs shake when I walk. I can't draw because my hands shake so much.
I've cried myself into a stupor every day this week.
I have a permanent headache.
I've made myself sick with anxiety.
I fall into bed after school, unable to do work.
the anxiety continues to build.

Taking a break from Facebook for a while. Facebook gives me the false hope that I'll be contacted. Facebook gives me the false hope that someone will tell me what I need to hear. I don't know what I need to hear right now.

I have decided to remain on blogger, only for the purpose of me venting into the empty space called the internet. It's more comforting to blog instead of write in a journal, because then I can pretend that someone is reading it. That the right people are reading it. I don't know who the right people are.

I don't like sleeping because I dream of things I don't want to think about.

My dream had the most disturbing and upsetting imagery I have ever seen.
I dreamed that one of your brothers (for in this dream, you had about six) got killed in a construction accident. The building was being built in a vacant lot, only accessible through the back of a store, then through a series of green metal staircases (such as the ones you see in fire escapes, but green) and blood red walls. I was loitering in the lot, just standing around, and almost at the same moment I turn around and see a long thin piece of metal fall and slice your brother horizontally in half. There was blood everywhere. Things appeared to move in slow motion. I wanted to call an ambulance but considering this building had no address, because it wasn't accessible from the street, it was impossible. I try and find a way out to get help but I get lost in the maze of staircases. All this while I hear a horrible wailing, which eventually fades into a whimper, and dies out.
The scene skips. You and the rest of your brothers are lying on a bed. just lying there. mourning. I come into the room silently and climb into the bed and lie down and look at you. You look back at me, and I apologize for what happened. You just look blank. I grab your hands and see that your thumb, pinky finger, and ring finger were gone on both hands- this also happened in the accident, but I was not aware. They look small and vulnerable. I cradle your hands in mine, sheltering them from everything else, and my eyes say that I will never, ever, EVER let anything like this happen to you again.
Almost the worst feeling in the entire thing was the one when I woke up and realized that I am unable to protect you anymore. And in that moment, the urge to protect you was absolutely overwhelming. It's funny, and somewhat silly, that a small, distressed girl like me would want to protect such a tall, strong person like you from any harm.

...God, so THIS is why I need therapy. *shudder*