Nothing makes it begin and nothing makes it end. But there has been a lull almost as perfect as an absence twice of late.
At 00:11 on Thursday morning, seconds before I was about to be blanketed by my subconscious; I heard, what sounded like the echo of a firearm through the thick nocturnal air. Suddenly began the percussion, getting louder as the echo subsided. Crushed again was my throat. Dread pierced my chest with its splintered needles. My eyes a haze, and my vision remained unchanged regardless of whether they were sheathed by my eyelids or not.
I am no longer holding the glass of water. I have become it.
The nightmares returned three nights ago. The cold sweats four. Five days of salty cheeks and impeccable façade. The exhaustion will set in before long. I ate like a starving sow at a picnic at the start of the week. I experience a scantily appetite now.
I am dispositional.