TWENTY-SECOND POST

September 25, 2026 · 10:17 AM

Last night I dreamt that I was trapped in a remote farm house. I’d been held captive there for years. It had been so long I had forgotten what it felt like to be outside, forgotten what the warmth of summer felt like.

My only view was through a window I was too small to reach, but could see a field next door, overrun with tall grasses I’d never seen before. Golden, thick, with sharp edges, that would cut me if I had been able to touch it.

I dreamed too, that one day the farmer next door cut down all this strange tall grass. I watched him use an alien machine, mowing these golden spike-grasses down with ease. I dreamt too, that somehow I escaped, and ran into this field.

I lay down in the middle, letting the golden rays of sun kiss my now-translucent skin. I remember crying out of joy, crying out of sheer pleasure. I can still vividly recall the prickle of this just-cut grass through my thin clothing.

A large white pickup truck moving impossibly fast tore into the center of the field. It was the farmer next door.

Despite my insistence, despite begging, pleading, he took me back to the farmhouse, and handed me back to the very captor I had fled.

My tears did not stop, only changed. I vowed that I would work to free myself again.

I woke up then, confused and exhausted. I do so much running in my sleep. I have been running this way for years, running in my dreams, panicked and hiding, trying desperately not to be found. Those who have shared my bed tell me I often move, often kick, and sometimes scream out.

Most of my dreams are like this, if not worse. If only my teeth fall out, it is a pleasant night’s rest for me.

Sleep without chemical aid is not restful for me, only a frightening interlude before I return to this world.

This is only the second night, post concussion, that the dreams have returned.

It feels unfair that I was given a brief rest, but only when I was so injured I lost my self. My self has only just started to come back into focus. My words have only just started to return, only just started to flow from within, and spill through my mind. I am both more and less permeable than I was. I am not sure I will ever be the same.