6: 31

Sometimes i can't tell if a memory were a dream or not. I've always come to conflict with it. For as long as i could remember i've had vivid dreams, tormenting sometimes. And sometimes i wonder if what i fear at night is factual or just... a dream. There's a fine line between reality and dream and for me, it's blurred often. The dreams about monsters and creatures are just as real as me speaking to my sister in an afternoon. But it's fake, i know that. That doesn't take away my fear though. Little do people know that what i actually fear lies deep within my closet or around a corner. I have a phobia that i had just recently laughed off to my aunt and mother, I hesitate to open closed bathroom doors or stalls afraid of what lies behind it. I don't know why they're bathroom doors, but they simply are. The mind plays odd tricks on a person, almost cruel. Why? Well I wish I knew. I wish I knew why dreams would somehow play out as memories to me, I wish I knew why I'm so afraid of many, petty, things. But that's just how it all is I suppose.