“There’s this daymare I’ve had since I was seven.
At first, it only came in my sleep, but over time,
it changed,
evolved into something I couldn’t escape,
even while awake.
I’m alone,
holding something in my hands,
not physical, but I feel it.
A sphere, maybe?
The longer I acknowledge it,
the bigger it gets,
until the weight of it crushes me.
I can’t move.
Gravity feels ten times heavier,
pressing me into the ground.
And then, more weight falls on me.
Not objects I can see,
just this unbearable, suffocating pressure.
I’m awake when this happens.
I can see it in my mind, feel it on my chest,
but I can’t stop it.
I lay there, trapped,
as the sphere in my hand dims,
its light fading.
One by one,
the weights stack higher,
pushing me deeper into the dark.
Like a game of Jenga,
where every block falling is another thought,
another fear,
and the collapse feels inevitable.
It took me years to find these words,
to write it down.
But now that I have...
I think I understand.
This is a mental prison,
my own thoughts,
my own weight.
Maybe tonight,
I’ll finally sleep.”
