It's 6am and I find myself sitting awake, wearing an old prom dress with my hair pinned up sloppy (but with potential) wondering why I'm still alive. This has to be a dream right?

I've spent too many hours of my life in this odd limbo that lies somewhere between living and sleeping, feeling listless and basically like a zombie - only with a pulse. Lately I've grown addicted to anything that reminds me that I have a heart beating in my chest- reminding me that I am actually alive. I never notice that, in all my nightmares: my heart beat. I suppose that goes along with people who are corney enough to ask to be pinched in moments of wonderment. I happen to be among those who actually believe that you can be hurt in your dreams, by your dreams. Some nights I wake up scratched or bruised, sweating and crying. Of course I do all of this to myself...

Sometimes I wish I could sleep forever, until I remember that within the boundaries of my mind, my imagination, I'm an evil bitch. I have to wonder though, is it really worse than living in this reality? Call me selfish.

My brain hasn't been working very well these past few days and to be honest it is scaring the crap out of me. I know my own patterns and if my intuition is correct I'm a few days away from becoming an obssessive compulsive shut in. I suppose I'll wait and see. I do so love to be right. No one ever really listens to me...