Reality

Last night, I dreamt of my dad. Honestly, I never knew how to deal with those. While the dreams are always just that, dreams, of happier days, I find myself always waking up bolting upright, holding my head in my hands with tears running down my face, my morning breath probably more stinked up from my vulgar groans of "fuck", because reality is actually the nightmare. Mornings like these I especially wish I hadn't opened my eyes. That's why I've always had mixed feelings about nights like these. I sleep happy, then wake up depressed. While after 7 years I still miss him everyday, I can never decide whether I love or hate dreaming of him. Maybe I love watching the memory of him like an old film, but hate the me that wakes up broken still trying to cope with the pain. I hate what I've become from the loss. I don't know what to do with myself and I doubt anyone else would know better. Nobody can help me. I am so close to walking in to a bloody therapist's office or just knocking myself out with a bottle of pills.