Nightmares and anger.

The past few nights have been filled with nothing but dreams that are bringing out the worst in me. One after another every night, and it's really getting to me.

My past, present, and future is haunting me.

The other night I dreamed of getting smashed in the head with a nail, but was totally fine despite the blood getting everywhere. That's not what bothered me though. I was in the car driving with Arty, his mom in the passenger seat, his father and I in the back seat because they insisted I got medical attention. As I was looking out the backseat, we were having conversation, and I suppose I let slip out, "Oh, well I don't like showing off my body and dressing nice," and his mother replied with, "WELL WHY NOT? YOU'RE SEXY WHY NOT SHOW IT OFF!" and his father chimed in with "SHE'S RIGHT SHOW OFF A LITTLE MORE," and he started tickling me. At that point I was disturbed. I don't want you to touch me. I don't want to show off my body. Go away.

Monday night, I got the worst of it. I dreamed of being at home in the sitting room. Mr. B was there, only it wasn't him. It was some cracked out, autistic, sexually deviant, immature persona in his body. I was scared. He wouldn't let me go. He kept laughing and holding me down and made me do this and that and this and that and I don't like it anymore. I remember how it felt, I remember what I saw, I remember how he acted. Why? I don't want to remember. Please, go away. Let me go and go away. I woke up in shock, at first, not remembering what I was afraid of in the first place. I let the situation of what happened develop in my mind. As soon as that happened, I got up and broke down. I was terrified to even close my eyes again. I couldn't, wouldn't let myself go back to sleep. If I had dozed off for even 10 seconds I woke up in horror. I wanted to tear off my skin to get rid of the dirty feeling. I held it in my hand against my skin in my futile attempts to keep me awake. As I woke up in shock, my hand shook pressing the blade lightly against my skin. I have shallow flesh cuts.

Last night, was a different dream. Still disturbing, but I can't grasp it. I was in English again, I was closing my eyes, but I knew I was wearing what I had worn earlier that day--my AE flannel and bullhead skinnies. I had my head down and Ms. S came up behind me to me and said, "Dianney, what's wrong?" I tilted my head back and kept my eyes closed, I was cold, "I'm tired, I'm so tired." Ms. S leaned in closer to my face, "I love you Dianney," and I said, "I love you too." And she repeated it, "I love you Dianney," and I was going to say it again, only her lips pressed softly against mine stopped me from doing so. My lips move with hers; I don't know if I wanted them too or not. "I love you Dianney" and she pressed her lip against mine again, tongue in for a split second, slid out, completed the kiss and I opened my eyes. She smiled and walked away. I woke up.

I don't know what my subconscious mind is trying to tell me, but it's really scaring me now. I don't want to remember. I'm doing so good at blocking out the bad things, why are you doing this to me? Mr. C told me today that in our minds, while we're awake, it's like having a continuous conversation with oneself, and in essence that's true, though I've never thought about it. He said that while we're asleep, we still have conversations with ourselves, only in pictures, and you aren't really there to control what's being said or done. Which is a good point. But. Why do I want to tell myself these things? Why am I bringing back the hurt? I don't want to hurt anymore. Hey, me, why do you want to hurt me?

Today, my mother had used my Hello Kitty container, and it really made me upset. I'm still upset about it quite frankly. First of all, it isn't hers. I bought it. I bought it, don't fucking touch it. Second, she used it to put her greasy ass chicken in it. BITCH, don't you know oil and shit sticks to plastic and it's almost IMPOSSIBLE to wash out!? I hate you. I hate you for taking my things without permission. I hate you for assuming it's okay to do that. I hate that if I even said anything you would say something like, "I'm only borrowing it," or  "I'm your mom be nice." Both are invalid reasonings to me. I bought that container merely of comfort. Knowing it was mine, and mine alone in a pattern that I enjoyed was comforting, and what do you do? YOU TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME. Just like you take everything else away from me. And I can't do a fucking thing about it. Do you realize how much significance that had to me? Yes, it was only $1 but it was MINE. MINE MINE MINE MINE. I don't have anything else that's MINE. My life isn't really my life, my decisions aren't really my decisions, why can't I have anything!? Why! Tell me why?! I try to be nice, and respectful in hopes of getting that returned to me, but NO. I can't. I can't win. Why would you do this to me? I hate you. I hate you so much. I got so mad earlier, and I couldn't stop crying. I tried to suffocate myself in my sleep, or induce some sort of heat stroke upon myself as I cried. I woke up, and cried some more. Only I was more angry this time. I punched walls, threw things, and pushed things over. I hate you for making me this way. I really hope that one day you will see how much damage you've done to me because I don't have the strength to show you now. But someday you will see, and you will regret ever having done anything to me.