In March of 2020, I was picked like a ripe berry out of my boarding school in Edinburgh and tossed into my home in Aberdeen.
Napping provided me an escape where my vivid Prozac dreams could house my boredom and whisk me away. For so long, I remained in control of my dreams. But as lockdown trailed on, my dreams became something more of a hiding place. It began to control me. I dreamt not of blood, guts, and gore, but lawless, nihilistic alternate realities. I decided to regain control of my dreams by delving deep into each uncomfortable fable my mind could conjure.
Those dreams which I felt cornered me, persecuted me, interrogated me and tortured me were in my control once more. And all I had to do was engage with them. By sharing my experiences and drawing poetry from my nightmares, I found the strength to begin to delve deeper into my dreams. We only fear what we do not understand. I want to let people know that even writers, whose calloused hands chip away at the most uncomfortable of topics, have demons too. What follows are poems and reflective thoughts written immediately proceeding nightmares.