"I don't know. Probably two years or so."
"How did it start?"
"It started out as nightmares. Extremely vivid ones. It developed into some sort of insomnia, and I ended up sleeping only two hours a day. Because I've been afraid of the nightmares."
"How vivid were they?"
"ARE. They are. So vivid to the point that...I now even doubt that you are a real person."
"Ok, I see."
The doctor then take some notes on his rather expensive-looking black leather notebook.
"I need you to tell me now, what do you think the genuine reason of you having all those nightmares is?"
I try to hold the urge to throw out the noodles I had for lunch, as I feel this sickening butterfly crawling up my gut, the same butterfly that always tries to climb out whenever I remember or try to remember things. I try to find my balance, inhale and exhale a big one, looking at the doctor very tensely, unconsciously clenching my fists too tight that they might get cramped afterwards.
"I wish I could."
I feel my own face reacts to the words that I just say. It sags down, along with the revelation of my desperate attempt to heal.
I wish I could.