breathe. what have i done here?

This blog is all at random. It may not, probably won't, make any sense.
sorry.

There has been an immense amount of "crap" surrounding me lately.

The death of my Uncle Jesse David shook my world a week ago. A week and it still hurts. It's still fresh in my mind. He really was a great man; never had a negative word to say about anyone. Me? I don't have the self control he had. I am so awful in the sense that I can't handle my reactions to things. And lately I have had an even more difficult time dealing with everything.

I have earthquake dreams. They shake me to the core and I don't like it. I can't stand it.

In no way is this a pity party for Kris by the way. Simply a chance for me to vent. Don't like me? Then get the hell off my blog. You're here to make sure I'm not writing about you? Then leave, because this isn't about you. This one's about me. Judge what you want. I'm just being real. Trying to make sense of my crazy, amazing, perfectly imperfect life.

My dreams. Well, nightmares. They come within the first 10 minutes of me falling asleep. They hang over me as a cloud. Haunting me as I lie in bed, desperately reach for some sleep.  I close my eyes and the darkness is illuminated by a shadow. Someone's outstretched arms pulling me in, yearning for the warmth I can give them. Then they play with my hair, twirling it around their finger, caressing my cheek. And in an instant, they rip my hair out. Chunk by chunk. They pick and peel away the skin of my face. All I can do is sit and feel it, feel the blood trickle from my scalp down my face. I don't cry in these dreams. I sit and let it happen, when in real life I'm in bed clawing at my face, ripping my hair out. It carries on until my limbs are torn away from me, finger by finger, toe by toe. Then I jerk awake as the person reaches in my chest and clutches my heart: attempting to sever it from my chest.
I'm not even kidding you. I am terrified to sleep sometimes. Other times my brain just won't let me sleep.

Another thing. These false accusations made by dramatic people around me.
You commented on his status?
Yeah! I did! What of it?
whore.
HOW? How does that make me a whore?

He wants me, not you.
Does he really?
Yes, he does. He talks to me all the time.
Highly doubt that. I love him. He loves me. I rebuke, liar.

You're friends with her?
Yeah, I am. So if you wouldn't mind... I would really appreciate if you didn't hate on her with me right here
fake. we aren't friends anymore. Pick one. Me or her.
No. I love you both. Why?