At night everything seems to come at you. It's the only time I'm able to be alone and all my worries plague me. When I first arrived in Chicago it was the only welcome time I had. I'd fall into my bed, my room too warm for sleep, and I'd just let it overtake me. I didn't dream for days and I'd wake up still clogged with sleep but too hot and sweaty to pretend any longer. I had so much to do and was never sure to where to begin. The worst was the first few days when everything was in front of me and I couldn't wait for the days to pass. The very next morning, after it all happened I felt as if I woke into a bad dream. I knew, after a few weeks, things would be manageable and it wouldn't be so bad but those weeks couldn't pass fast enough.

Now those weeks are behind me and I feel like I've got a shaky grip on everything. I'm surprised I've accomplished what I have yet still I see so much ahead of me. Since that day I've had a heavy feeling in me that I've tried not to face. It's a mass of worry and uncertainty that I do my best to ignore. During the day it lies still and comes out when I finally try to put myself to rest. I have strange, surreal dreams of loss and being lost. In all my dreams I'm helpless or I have to relive what I experienced in some form. People are taken from me, I'm in an accident or I'm put somewhere without any way to get back. I always wake up with a clear memory of it, astonished at how closely it resembles my life. Dream interpretation has always been an interest of mine but these offer no challenge.

Some days, like tonight, I can only lie awake in bed and go over everything in my head. I make an inventory of all I've lost or I consider the other options I could have taken. I know that there was nothing I could have done that would have made my situation any better. I've come to terms with that. In no way am I to blame for what happened. It can only be explained by negligence or freakishly bad luck, perhaps a combination of the two. That at least that brings me comfort.

I don't care much for possessions but I miss the memories they brought. I miss the clothes given to me by friends, books I enjoyed and music I valued. It seems so trite to people when I mention it but now, more than halfway through my life and with little to show for it, I know it's not so small. This is what I hate, the mass of worry, anger, sadness and anxiety that has been with me since that day. It has become a physical thing that keeps me fatigued and worn. All this will be so much easier when it is gone.