I am nervous to sleep in front of other people. As if it were a drug, the lack of control and awareness makes me nervous. I could confess anything, but then, what is there left that I have kept a secret?

Beyond truth, there is lies. I remember thinking when I woke up one morning when I was very young that I had come from a dream in which I told my mother that I didn't love her anymore. She cried all night, because I had actually done this, and by the fact that I was still so innocent then and could still say something like that, because I didn't hate my mother at all. I remember thinking at the time if I were able to do that, I could do anything. I had wanted to know the power of a lie. I wanted to be come aware of the things I was capable of doing, even if I did not yet understand the language I was using.

And there was another time when I heard my mother call my father an asshole. She looked horrible when she said it, and I equated that to being the worst thing you could call someone, although I had no idea what it actually meant. Not too long after, I was in a fight with a girl who I had never liked. Her name was Rosline. She was making fun of me because I was wearing a coat outside and because no one else was, so I used the word on her to see its effect. She reported it and we were both punished by time out.

A few years later, when I had started keeping a journal for my ridiculous nine year old thoughts, I wrote in it how mad I was with my mother for whatever reason, and how much I hated her. I stuffed it between my mattresses and went to sleep.

She had come into my room, somehow wedged the book out, and read it, sitting right next to me, while I dreamt. She cried again and then yelled at me in the morning. I destroyed the book and it took many years for me to ever trust paper again.

Once, after my first love had broke it off with me, I had cried so much it made my eyes swell shut. In the morning, my mother came to wake me up. She saw that I was still sick and let me rest, thinking that I was still asleep, but I was awake. She told me that I was beautiful and rubbed my back.

Even more years after that, I had a dream that I was laying in bed, being held by my mother. It was her spirit, her ghost, and there was peace.