For Hallowe’en, here is a post that some will love and some will hate. My personal opinion is that it is creepy, so this is the perfect day for posting it. Enjoy!
The child was lying peaceful only a moment before I entered the room. Now, her brows creased, she pulls the blankets up to her neck, gripping them with tight fists. Rolling into a fetal position, she does not awaken, for she is a prisoner in the dream she is having. As always, it repeats from the beginning, since the first time it played in her subconscious mind. There is blackness and a far away, steady hammering. Then, shapes begin to emerge out of the blackness as she cautiously moves toward the cacophony. Maybe they are being revealed to her, as if a veil is removed, but by whom, and for what purpose? …
The most difficult thing about SPD, over and above the crippling effects of the disorder/dysfunction, is how much I have to ask others to go without, just so that I can be involved in something with them. When they are willing to go to that extent for me, I am touched by their kindness and I’m incredibly grateful.