I had another “escape” dream. Where I was, I cannot quite remember – it was likely a school again, but I wanted to get away. Shred was there. I went to the top of the building. He tried to get me to stop, but I kept running. The top of the building led to a glade or such. It was like spring or summer. Trees allowed sunlight to filter through them beautifully.
Shred managed to follow me. I took off. I saw people out in the grass, but paid no mind. I wasn’t going back even if it was Shred telling me to. I jumped and flew. He kept running after me.
Eventually I came to a somewhat void place and a bunch of people were there – people who were out to cause trouble. They didn’t look imposing to me, it was just a feeling. I cannot distinctly remember what went on other than me physically avoiding them and going no farther.
Shred eventually showed up, but he was far away, still on the ground while we were high above. He started climbing what looked to be a metal structure… it was yellow. Even on it, he wouldn’t get that far. He looked like an ant he was so far away. I looked again at the people blocking my way.
Something happened then and I looked back to Shred. I reached down as though the structure was a miniature – a toy. Where Shred was took place a strange bug. Most would likely have found it horrifying to look at, but I knew it was him and thus dismissed the appearance. I somehow knew the people in front of me did that to him and was outraged.
I believe I woke up after that before anything was solved/concluded.

A few days before this one, I had something somewhat similar go on in my dreams. It was of course an “escape” dream. I was at what I knew to be a school, likely a college. I looked about, there was a pool out back, I was once in a cafeteria-like place but it seemed more like a lounging/study hall area. I saw Jovan there as well as a few other familiar faces. Something urged me to leave. I wanted out. I wandered around, stumbled upon the pool again but only this time there were a bunch of students partying. Eventually I reach the front part of the school. I merely want to get to a place that is deserted there. I see a ledge and decide to jump – I always seem to be able to jump to the tops of buildings. Jovan had followed me and poked fun at me that I could have simply walked up as there was a sloping wall that led to it. Something ticked me off – the last straw as you will.
I couldn’t simply find peace by going to a high place, so I was leaving. Jovan refused to let me and went to get a teacher and students he and I knew to force me to stay there. I jumped into the air and flew.
They followed, searched for me and I avoided. Eventually I left town, flew higher and drifted to a strange land. It was mainly of African Americans… dressed in Little House on the Prairie times. Some of the women were as tall as sky scrapers… I saw one dancing with a man of average height. I paused and thought, I’ve been here before in previous dreams.
I carried on, and drifted to a more modern land. There was construction going on, I saw rust colored pipes on a high building, thought I had been there before again, passed it and eventually came to a bunch of skyways.
One looked like tracks to a roller coaster and I saw a short train riding on it. I observed life below me. Everyone was small and busy looking. I continued on my way, high in the sky and eventually woke up.

These two dreams are the first ones to combine my dreams of school, which usually deal with irritation and wanting to escape, and my flying dreams that mainly consist of simply drifting high above and seeing different lands as I observe the world below. I never thought to connect the two really.

The one where Jovan appears, I told my mom about it. I mused about it meaning I might have felt I didn’t belong in this world. After all, I feel pretty estranged to fellow humans anyway. In my dreams I usually feel at peace when flying. I love just drifting in them and watching the world below. In my dreams at a school or such usually just deal with me thinking, “Why am I here?”  That, or I am very irritated with someone or something bothering me and I lash out in some way or another. Sometimes I just flat out leave.
Oh well. I just thought I’d post these two.

Well, my mom admits to me today that she thinks I might be PTSD. She was reading aloud from a book while we were in the car late this morning. She read the second section “PTSD-A Normal Reaction to an Abnormal Amount of Stress.” I laughed lightly at that.
She started to read about the four types of disassociation. The first was where sense and emotions disconnect. I was vaguely disturbed hearing what she read. She moved onto the second, which was depersonalization or derealization.

“Here you feel like a robot or thing.”
“It is not uncommon for survivors to bite, hit, or try to injure themselves physically so they can feel ‘real’ or ‘alive’.”

I was a bit surprised to hear the robot bit. Mom went on about how once I even said I felt like one once. I vaguely recall. It was something along the lines of being mechanical. In any case, after she read the rest I smirked and jokingly asked, “So, does that mean I suffer from PTSD?”
My mom apparently thinks so.

Later on, probably even around twelve hours from that last conversation, I was doing my chores and ask her, “Do you think you are knowledgeable on PTSD? As in, how well you know about it?”
She replied yes, which I eventually understood to mean she knew the topic very well. So, I reaffirmed as to whether she really did think I was PTSD. She does.
I eventually ask, “So all in all… What do you think I really am in cases of mental stability?”
She asked me something… I cannot really recall, but in any case I didn’t understand what she was asking and thus told her to go with that. She did. It apparently was what I was looking for. I asked her what she thought of the bi-polar thing. She agrees with it. There was a bit of talk. I asked her if the type I had would ever go away since what brought mine on was stress. She said no. She used the example of my anxiety and the like. I used the analogy of my wrist.
I ask about the Aspergers. She said she really wasn’t sure on that… perhaps she didn’t really think it was right. She spoke about my inability to relate to people, but saying it could be PTSD. She then spoke about the communication problems and that was the only factor that really seemed to keep it in the list of possibilities.
If I do have PTSD, my mom believes it was likely all due to my sister. I somewhat smirked at that. Perhaps… but I think there was more to it than just my sister. I kept quiet though.
All in all, it rather surprises me. I know some about PTSD, but I never would have considered myself as such. Perhaps it is how the disorder was presented to me through media… then again those presented were likely to great extremes. Oh, well.
I really don’t know what I think of this. I suppose it is a possibility, but… with how my life has been up to now… I suppose it would be as though I were making a mockery to those who have it.
I mean, really. When you hear about PTSD it is usually associated with people in war, survivors of terrible physical abuse, people who underwent natural disasters… Then there is me, who ends up having PTSD just due to my sister? Truthfully, if I do have it… I find it a bit pathetic on my account. Why? I suppose I could go back and say, “When younger I made a great deal about being strong and show no weaknesses.” While I am not so intense about that now, I do think the scenario is a bit sad.
So what is my opinion? Possibility, but I never saw it coming.

Atticus now drinks on his own, eats plenty and is able to leave my room unsupervised as long as no dogs are in the house. Cleo is still a royal bitch towards him, hissing if he is a yard away, but she doesn’t attack him or the like.
He’s been growing steadily and is a little delinquent. Well, he doesn’t cause trouble, but he is a handful. He also is a fighter. He attacks everything. His particular toys of choice are my hands and feet. Now that he is older he uses me like a bloody soup bone.
His middle name is Jack I’ve decided… Jack the bloody nipper. His teeth go through my skin now and will tear it good. I bleed. Bugger.
Despite he is a hyper, playful and injury inducing cat, I am fond of him. He is the exact opposite of Peabody, but it doesn’t sadden me. I just pray once he’s a year old he will have mellowed some… my poor hands.
Speaking of hands, I’ve been strengthening my wrist with a two pound weight the past two weeks now. After this weekend I might go onto a three pound. Yeah… muscle strengthening. I only do sets of ten or twenty when I think about it. Despite the inconsistency, my wrist does feel stronger. I did have to take some Advil yesterday because my muscles became tight, but all is fine.
Oh yeah, about three weeks before all this I saw Mindy, a previous student who was taught under my mom. When younger she would drop her son off at our house so my sister would baby sit for him. Now twelve, he is a pain in the ass. Mindy seems the same and I liked seeing her. Her son was a different story. Pretty much he “attacked” me with taunts and junk. I guess I’m just naturally weird. After we ate my mom suggested I go to my room. I think she feared the kid was making me relive traumatic memories. No… I just wanted to get on my leather boots and kick him hard in the knees. Well, I did as suggested and went to bed. Seems I wasn’t the only one bothered by him. My mom asked for wine after they left. Sadly, we didn’t have any.
Let’s see… anything else? I don’t think so. My life is pretty much the same as always. Blah.

Well, it has certainly been a busy week since with Atticus I have been “obsessive” as my mom and dad put it. Well, I remember being as bad, if not worse than this, with Peabody and my dad often freaked out with me.
Since he has no official birthday, I decided exactly eight weeks before we got him would be the day. So, he’s a March 23rd baby. I still think of Peabody though and worried about what he would have thought about all of this. On perhaps the first night I thought to him and cried some.
Sigh…
Atticus seems to like dry food over wet and for a few days I gave him simply dry food as it was until my mom corrected me. Since then I’ve been “fixing” it up by adding a bit of water and microwaving it for five seconds.
He still doesn’t seem to get the concept of lapping water despite he licks the broth made from the food-water combination. He seems to understand that if he goes to the bowl and sits I’ll either catch on or he needs to squeak to get my attention and then he’ll get a water fix by me feeding him water through a dropper.
Sometime during the weekend I had gotten him a cat bed. My mom and I stopped in the pet store to get flea killer. I brought Atticus along and since he wasn’t accustomed to such a high place (my chest) I let him rest on one of the pet beds. He took to it in a snap. Therefore I got it for him as well as paid for the flea killer since my mom had already paid for a litter box, food and a few toys for him the day before.
The week days were spent mainly paying attention to him. He had plumbing issues, fixed eating times, need for water and the like. He often would keep me up at night due to being in a playful mood and so I’d be exhausted during the day. I still got most of my chores done, but dusting was completely skipped.
Each day I took him out of my room around lunch time to see a different room in the house. He met the other cats and they were all bewildered/spooked and either hissed, growled or tried to swat at him. Poor Attius. I pretty much shunned the cats a bit after that. I mean, what do they think he’ll do? He’s smaller than all of them by far. Peh.
I gave him another bath on Wednesday and he opposed just as much as last time. I get light scratches more from his playing though… in fact despite his very forceful struggles I don’t think I got a scratch at all when I gave him baths…
Atticus met my dad’s dog on Friday noon. Auggie seemed to like him. He watched Atticus, wagged his tail and sniffed him, but overall was friendly. I was happy with that. Atticus was of course intimidated by his size, but I knew at least one of the pets in this house would be nice to him.
Anyway, this morning I had to get up around eight despite I received no sleep last night to take Atticus to the veterinary clinic. He was given shots and something to check for worms. After paying, mom brought us back home and I lay down for a few hours.
Dad came in soon enough and I got up to get groceries with him while I left Atticus in my mother’s care. He met my mom’s dog. Killian passed the test as well. He reacted to Atticus much like Augustus did. Atticus reacted with the usual – tail raised high and spiked out. Despite this, my mom reported he calmed down after he realized Kilian wouldn’t threaten him. That made me really happy.
Well, Dad and I did the shopping errand, came back and then unpacked and put up groceries. I think I did a few chores then as well as prepare Atticus some food and once completed I finally could collapse.
Atticus slept me for a long time until finally he woke up around the same time I did.
Since I had to check out his litter box after he used it, I looked for worms but was uncertain most of the day. I now know that he has both. My mom intends to call the vet’s to see what to do about it since what they didn’t treat for tape ones.
Night came; I ate some soup since I had only had a bowl of cereal around 8:10 this morning. Cleaning my room a bit and doing a few chores, I left my room to find Atticus following. Across from my room is a guest room. It took a while for him to get from my room to it since it was about a yard away. Once he reached it, I picked him up and shut the door behind me. Mom and two cats were already inside.
He got “reacquainted” with the two ally cats. Tiger was a bit better. Chewy hissed and growled again. Peh. Still, they will have to get used to him eventually. Freakin’ wusses. He is just a kitten for crying out loud. Oi.
Anyway, after a while I brought Atticus back to my room and spent the rest of the night here doing my usual activities. Thus, here we are.

I’ve wound up with a kitten. I named him Atticus Jack Finch. He is about 8 weeks old now. He came to be ours by a work of fate perhaps.
Today my mom and I were doing errands. We stopped by the pet store to stock up on some things and some people were holding a pet adoption outside. I didn’t intend to get a cat; I just like to look at the cats and dogs. Well, they had three barn-born Siamese kittens. I took to one of them. It mainly looks Siamese, but I think it has some ally cat in it, since there are faint stripes.
So, I decided to get it. Sure, he isn’t purebred, a cross and such, but it needed a home and it actually caught my attention as well as stirred up fondness. My mom and I reserved him for 25 bucks, got some supplies for our new family member and finished the rest of our errands, which was get sheets, my mom an intimate and me some light weights to strengthen my wrist. We swung by again, my mom filled out a contract for me and we brought the little boy home.
He was tired when we settled him in. My mom kept thinking about his brother, who looked like him, but his back feet both had six toes. A Hemmingway cat, a person called him. They were gone by then, however.
After that it was around two. I was tired and thus took a nap with my new kitten. He finally showed some signs of life around five. I tried feeding him and the like. I made sure he understood the concept of the litter box since he was a barn cat. After that, now that I was certain he was bright eyed and bushy tailed, I gave him a bath since he likely had fleas. He fought and cried. I found fleas of course. I killed seven in the bath and off and on the rest of the evening I got rid of about four more. Hopefully I got all, but if not, I’ll find them tomorrow.
I did some chores in between my time with him, my mom came in the room and we watched TV while she ironed and after that she went to bed. I’ve returned to my room now, situated sleeping places and moved the litter box.
Well, after that I paused to write this. I need to stop now since he is vying for attention. I’ll write more when I have time…
I’ll be so busy now. Bye-bye pastimes.

I woke and did chores this morning. I thought of the day before and still wondered about my mother’s response to my dream. I worried. She is one of the few people I care about deeply enough to worry over how I am seen. I expected my dad’s response. Just by my dream he worried for my sister. My mom’s response… was too ambiguous for me to read.
I wondered if I should leave my worries alone and let my subconscious battle them or if I should talk to my mom again. Perhaps I would bring it up when we went to see my psychiatrist. Maybe I’d show her my last entry. Perhaps I’d simply bring it up. At worst, I’d keep silent and hope to forget about all of it. Since I knew brooding over it would just make me sick, I mainly preoccupied my mind the rest of the day until I saw her again.
Around four thirty she arrived home and we headed for the doctor. During the ride and while lounging in the waiting room we talked. I flat out asked her if I my reaction to my dream disturbed her at all. She replied no since she knew it was just a dream and dreams are symbolic.
The conversation went on from there. I told her she blatantly said I killed her in the dream. She said she didn’t mean to say that and we vaguely went over her interpretation and such. I told her a summary of my interpretation. I told her I knew all the conflicts between her didn’t die like how she speculated. I… know that deep inside I still am leery of my sister… at least of the past.
I know mentally I am at peace. As noted in my previous entry, I do not regret what happened, because it also was part of what made me become who I am today. Intellectually I am aware my sister likely has no clue that her actions in the past have traumatized me and all that crap. She likely doesn’t remember a damn thing. I know it is just the way she is. I know that I see her as my sister and I care for her as a sister. Even though in families people will go to the extent of disowning a member… such doesn’t fit in my belief system. She is my sister no matter what.
I also know, however… that despite she is my sister, as a person I don’t greatly care for her, but I don’t hate her. While I can vaguely feel sympathetic to her… for the most part I feel nothing. Fondness… doesn’t really come to mind in my memories. Sure, there were interesting times… but when it comes down to her alone… She’s just another person.
Should I think of her in the past… she is the nightmare that became reality. Thinking of myself around her back then… She could terrify me to speechlessness. I froze and I would obey. I learned defiance only got me in deeper shit.
While in the past my relationship with her made me so angry… now… I think it just makes me sad. When I think of how my parents did nothing… I think I’m resigned.
I don’t know what I’d do now should I ever encounter my sister in her past moods. I know if my parents ever took her side in the matter or didn’t believe me… I’d be crushed.
For now, though… I think I’m back to being relatively peaceful. My misinterpretation of my mother’s reaction was solved.
Thinking back… I remembered how I told no one anything when a child. I didn’t want to be a burden, I didn’t want to be weak and I was afraid of how the listener would respond. I almost did that today. I thought of just keeping my worries over my mom to myself.
Talking isn’t weak. It takes more will and courage than some think. While it can start misunderstandings it can always clear them as well. It can bring the greatest of dread and to most wonderful relief.
Even if the person you tell reacts the way you most fear you find out more about what kind of person he or she was and you no longer struggle with the issue. The response may have broken something, but there are no more what ifs. Illusions are no longer there. True, the person no longer sees you the way they once saw you… but then you will not be living a lie and… you find out if the person is truly someone who you can depend on.
I… had a handful of friends when growing up. The few times I tried to talk with them, they never understood. There was one in the end though. He seems to find none of my words surprising and he never shies away. The same goes for my mother. I’d rather only have two people understand me like that than many friends…
I can be truthful to them, confide in them and while I might be afraid sometimes… I have come to trust them to the point I have belief. I believe they will understand me… and if they don’t, they won’t shun me. I am… very grateful for that.
In my short life… I realized I’ve been taken advantage of when it comes to friendships. All of those friends I once had… I tried to be the best friend possible. I always quietly promised I would be there for my friends no matter what. I became the person they would confide in and that was about all. They’d pull me out from a dusty drawer, tell me woes, problems and such… and when satisfied, they would stick me back in and leave.
I became physically sick due to that. It took years for me to finally realize I had to stop before I was eaten away from such relationships. They couldn’t understand me and didn’t even try to, and yet I still tried to be a good friend to them. In the end, I realized, such a promise was pointless. I was their friend… but they apparently were not mine.
Heh… all of this makes me think of that story I wrote.

“I thought of you as an illusion once, Edan. Do you know that?” she thought quietly as she felt his warmth envelope her.
“I feared letting myself touch anyone… not just physically alone, but mentally and emotionally. Did you know that?”
Quietly she reached for his hands. He lifted them so his would meet hers. She smiled vaguely.
“Touch… I put so much into it. If I were to touch you, would you disappear? Would all of this be but a dream created due to insanity? Am I still back at my post and merely am mad?
“If I were to touch your mind… would what I see be an illusion? Did I merely make you so wonderful in fantasies? Would the dream shatter and explode into oblivion?”
She shut her eyes and took in his scent. She simply wanted to be surrounded by him like a blanket.
“Perhaps one day I will be able to let you look at everything. Maybe one day we will touch completely and not merely watch from afar. On that day… perhaps my trust will be freed.”

Somehow in my dream I knew it was October. I was with Denise in a mall. We stopped by a costume shop to finish our costumes. For some reason we were both dressed in clown jumpsuits. She was looking for a wig. I mentioned her birthday coming up and asked what she was going to do.
Eventually my sister shows up with some tall guy. She is all dressed up… fashion and all. I remember a jean mini-skirt and killer legs. There were vague feelings of jealousy, I think. I used to be jealous of her as a child because she was good looking.
I don’t remember the dialog, but she said something that triggered me. I slapped her hard and called her a bitch and an asshole – something I never would have done when younger nor in real life now. I tried to leave then. She grabbed me and I struggled. Old fear, anger and the like was evident in me. She was furious and I was dead if I didn’t escape. She was pulling on me and I was struggling to get farther away.
Eventually she had a grip on my legs and I managed to pull myself over a hand rail. My fall made her lose grip. For some reason in my fall a huge hand gun appeared in my hands. It looked like a toy to me, in truth and the metal looked like plastic painted with silver spray paint.
Suddenly a ton of mall guards/police officers appeared, apparently due to the huge scene we made. They had similar guns to mine. Apparently the gun in my hand had gone off, or something. I left the scene.
I had been wearing a leather jacket all this time, so I hid the gun in it as I left the mall. It was night by the time I reached the outside. I thought there is no way I can make it home. Then for some reason I knew my parents either weren’t home or didn’t want me home.
I walked for a while and was still near the mall. I saw a small building connected to it and knew I could make the jump. In my dreams I can jump to high places at times. I jumped and hid there.
Since I had left the scene and had a gun on me, I had a feeling I’d be the one given blame. I never pulled the trigger though and I never heard a gun shot. Even if we only got in trouble for quarreling, I’d still be the one at blame. I was the one who hit her.
I saw I was still in the odd jumpsuit and vaguely thought I should take it off. I knew I had jeans and a tank under it. It would help me be less recognizable despite my face was known. I was too tired and I suppose depressed thus uncaring by then though.
Suddenly a light passed my vision. A search light, I thought. I should try to hide in my surroundings. I tried, but some reporter popped up and saw me trying to flatten myself again a rock in the shadows.
For some reason Jovan showed up as well. I don’t remember what happened or what was said between us. I think my sister was dead, considering the hype going on around me. I woke up after that.

I can already guess what my mom would say if she heard this dream. It displays my suppressed anger in childhood. There was my helplessness against my sister and when I tried to go against her no one would help. Perhaps there was blame upon myself because I was suddenly seen as a perpetrator. I didn’t think my parents cared or were ever there when I needed them… Stuff like that.
The dream doesn’t really disturb me either. I had a dream regarding Peabody where he was alive in a plastic bag, the kind you get for groceries, and stuck him in a box. I closed the box, knowing it was necessary, but my conscious part kept saying, “But he’ll die! That is a terrible death! Don’t!” The box was shut and I left. I was disturbed by that dream for days… perhaps a week.
After I read some dream meanings, I began to ease though. The bag meant that what I held in it were my responsibilities. If there was a tear in it, the responsibility was burdening me. There was none. The box had the possibility of meaning I was trying to protect or preserve some part of myself or represent my limitations and restrictions. I think it was both. After that, the dream made sense.
This recent dream… doesn’t bring any disturbance to mind or emotion. I wonder if that means I really don’t care that greatly for my sister still. I know intellectually I care for her. She is my sister no matter what. We grew up together and she has impacted my life greatly good and bad. I don’t think I really regret our past together, because I like who I am today and the experiences you undergo help shape you.
If it is true I still don’t care for my sister that much emotionally… well, I think that is a shame really.

Continuance… (15 hours and thirty minutes later…)
I sometimes forget how different I am when I talk to my mother now. I told her about the dream. I think my response disturbed her a bit. Perhaps it was just my insecurity showing what I was expecting… but… I guess I was looking for whether my response would be accepted by her or not. Her view of me is important as far as I am concerned.
Her interpretation was that perhaps if I did indeed kill my sister in that dream, perhaps it was symbolizing my killing me fear, anger or whatever of her. Truthfully, she believes I did. I think I took that personally to a certain extent. Sure, it was just a dream, but even in that dream I don’t even know what happened.
Usually in dreams I know. In my dreams there are usually more implications. I would have heard a gunshot, felt the trigger, heard a scream, or something. Such did not occur. All I knew is that something happened to my sister.
Perhaps she was shot. Perhaps it was by me. Perhaps it was by those guards. Perhaps it was by someone who threw the gun into my lap. Perhaps she even died, I don’t know. I thought all of those possibilities in my dream.
I guess I was asking for it. After all, all my other dreams were of anonymous school mates and it only dealt with slapping, punching, telling off, or biting the perpetrators. This was of my sister and there was vague implication of death. Of course my mom would take it that way.
I think her interpretation is wrong also. What the dream meant, I don’t really care. I just know, after seeing and hearing her response… it wasn’t right. Before I went to sleep again, I thought of my sister and our past.
Deep embedded fear.
I feared her so much I couldn’t think straight or talk. That dream… reawakened a lot of memories too. There was her constant yelling and the constant fear. There was that time I tried to get away from her, ran to the house my brothers stayed in and sought sanctuary at. She followed me. I thought I was safe there. I was with my eldest brother. I was wrong.
She took hold of me and tried to drag me out of there. I actually tried to get away for once, but all hope died when my brother wouldn’t help me and told me to go with her. I gave up then. No one would help me. She dragged me back, but my physical fight was gone. When I still had some will vocally she hit me and called my mom. My mom only listened to her and said I was to do as my sister said.
There was no hope.
Heh… thinking of this… sends vague feelings behind my eyes, like they are on the verge of watering slightly.
I remember, when I confessed to my mom about my relationship with my sister… she thought our fighting was over something small. She thought it was only kid stuff…
Does “kid stuff” scar a person the rest of his or her life? Does it cause the will of beginning teen to take a living room couch as a bed for years to only get two to four hours of sleep at night and a screwed up back just to get away from his or her sibling? I didn’t even keep my clothes in anything. I just had them stacked up in my parents’ room.
What made them think I’d be so willful to live with no privacy like that over something petty?
Then again they never knew, looked or questioned. Sigh…
I guess the dream rings true. Though I can see all of this in a logical, understanding view… My emotions remain the same despite tempered. While I regret telling my mother the dream, I guess in a sense it is an awaking as well, which is something good. I still trust my mother, but she will never understand me completely. I still am not disturbed by the dream, but more by the effect it had on my parents when I mentioned it to them.
When it comes to my sister… I just regret the fact that even after all this time, her ways still are deeply embedded in my memory. She likely doesn’t remember a damn thing, hence why she is forgivable. It is the way she is. Yet as much as I can look at our past logically and with understanding… the past feelings will still linger.
The inside… in faint a faint subconscious way, I think internally a part of me is crying and hitting a wall out of loss, confusion and helplessness. It cries out, “Why?”
I guess my anger is due to not having my parents understand.
My sadness and frustration is over the fact all the things in my past had to happen.
Yeah… my eyes feel prickly.