broken child

Date: 9/5/2019

I was in my house, an altered version of it. This is a common pattern in my dreams, I'll be in places I recognise, yet they are always different in some aspect. My parents layed out these old photos and items from my past. As I looked through each and every photo, and item on the table, I cried. I cried so fucking hard, it was hard to breathe and my chest felt weird yet crying felt so good. It felt like a release, of all these repressed emotions inside me. I was so grateful that my parents decided to conserve these childhood memories. My mum asked me why I was crying but I couldn't speak at all, I only cried even more. I ran to the bathroom to be alone because I didn't want to be seen crying. I guess those memories took me to such a simple time, where the trivialities of life just didn't matter. Happiness was the only thing clouding my mind. I came back and went through more items, like a pair of headphones and old photos, etc. Every item unlocked this deeply embedded memory within my brain, which I now can't even tell was a real memory? I'd like to believe they were real. Crying felt so good, the release.. it was like orgasming. Sounds weird but the release of the emotions must've been something I really needed.