Night between August 4 and 5
It’s the first night in my new room. It’s cold, the bed is damp because the monsoon makes everything humid. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. It takes a while before, curled up in a ball, wrapped in my soft blanket and with my eye-mask that says « Keep your shit together » on, I can finally sleep.
But then, I start fighting. I have to wake up. If I don’t… I have to wake up, I need to lock the door. People are walking in. Men. They are threatening. A man. A young Indian boy is by the side of my bed. He is staring down at me. His face is marked, scarred. He is there to scare me. But I know I’m sleeping. I have to wake up, close the door, end this. Let me find the real. The cold, sharp, crazy singing voice of an invisible lady said « No, no, no, no, no! » I asked « Why? »
– Because there’s nothing else, because there’s nothing else! »
I fight enough to half wake up. I am standing at the foot of the bed, and the young child is still there – half there. I struggle to half open my eyes. My sight is blurred. My hand goes right through him. The men are still there. I’m not safe.
Somewhere around there, Johnny Depp is strolling through the morgue.
I finally find my way out and open my eyes, terrified, and I stare at the dark. The door doesn’t lock, I tell my subconscious « Please, believe the door is locked. » and, when I’m ready to go back to sleep, « Please, focus on Johnny Depp. »
Finding Love at Home and Across the World 