Have you ever dreamed, something so horrid or scary, that when you wake up you can't tell what real anymore? You couldn't grasp that the life seems so peaceful and the nightmare that seems so dangerous is what they are, and maybe, just maybe, is was the other way round.
That's how I feel, all day, every day. But, unlike you might feel, after I dream I feel, normal. Like nothing can catch me because I've already escaped the worst thing in the world. Let me explain. If I was too tired I would park myself down and count.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
One sheep, two sheep, why do we count sheep?
Why not cats or... mice? Why are mice afraid of cats? Is it because cats are bigger than mice?
Then why are elephants afraid of mice, when elephants are so much bigger than both cats and mice?
Yeah, that's usually how it goes but surely, though slowly, I'd slip into the recall. A place where the past and fears collide in a dance of horror.
In the recall, I'd be trapped on a mental ward. I couldn't move my hands or mouth without feeling the restriction of the straps. My head is as clear, no trace of the "madness." I strain against the black polyester with every ounce of strength and still, I couldn't budge. My back hurts right from the base of my spine to the tailbone. Saliva is pooling in the back of my mouth.
The staff have gone.
I am alone.
Heart pounding ready to explode, my eyes scanned left and right for signs of someone coming to help. No-one. Worn green curtains hang limply on flaked chrome rings and though the gap passers-by paying me no attention at all.
And I'd be back in my personal hell. A cheap analogue clock ticked loudly on a nearby wall, each second marked. I needed to turn, I needed to swallow and mindless, squirming won't help. I turned in on the thumb of my right hand, fold it in as flat as possible and pull, not caring if it dislocates. My hand came right out. Then I do the same with the left. Even with two hands free, it isn't enough, I couldn't turn. If I sat up I may be caught and re-tied too tight for this little trick to work a second time. I point my right foot so hard the muscles become painful and I twisted it until it is free, but my left is bound too tight. I twist, some relief for my back and easier to swallow. Tearing off the bandage around my mouth.
The would nurse come in and say "Oh, I see they untied you." I'd agree and manage a staged smile, she unstrapped my last leg and I turn to my side. I'm sure Father would be out of here by now, armed and dangerous, but not me. I'm a pacifist, scared of the "professional care" that leaves me scarred on the inside. The bleach tinctured ward fades and the nightmare intensifies to the next level.
No longer is the door open, no bright light comes from the hallway. No handle, no way out. Four concrete walls, a linoleum floor, a toilet with no paper and a bare mattress - this "seclusion room" is a prison cell by another name...
Then I would wake up. It wouldn't matter where I woke up, I just would. And then I travel to the next city. Strange, I know, but it's the only way I've lived for almost 3 years. Eating, sleeping and then walking to the next town. Usually staying there for a week or two. I've managed to walk through North Korea all the way to South Korea without the police catching up to me, yet. Thankfully I manage to reach the orphanage before any trouble got in my way.
I'm now, with the help of an old ally, living the central part of South Korea. Seoul...