I used to suffer from nightmares. I don’t remember a whole lot, most of it was a blur, but I think the reason why they made me angrier or sadder was that they eventually became my reality.
You see, everyone tells you that your dreams can come true…but no one tells you how real a nightmare can become.

I didn’t go to sleep thinking of monsters or being murdered, instead, I woke up from dreams vividly picturing abandonment, humiliation and constant, heavy despair.

My greatest fear was being surrounded by demons that were invisible to everyone else, but me. The internal things that slowly rip and tear away at everything you once were and ought to become. It’s a process of torture that slip’s passed your lips every time you try and explain it. Social anxiety, body image problems, self-doubt, depression…all of these things that end up suffocating you.
Most of it stemmed from not actually doing anything. Not being active and accomplishing goals or aspirations. I was constantly watching other’s live their lives day by day, walking a path with conviction. Even when I tried to see something through, those same inner demons seem to creep up and bring me down again and again.

It’s not easy being young and tortured. To see the world go by and watch everyone else succeed while you fail. It’s hard not to feel like a loser when things consistently don’t go your way.

But despite all the bullshit, I thought of still finding some shelter in the metaphorical storm.

I chose to stay up late into the night, avoiding all the inner turmoil and decided to focus on things that may have brought me joy.

This led me to my childhood.

I loved reading novels and watching movies, both old and new. Characters I grew up on became my inspiration. The nostalgic sense of going back in time, and evolving through all these stories that I once knew so well helped me shape a secure little bubble that I was comfortable in.

But it didn’t save me.

I still struggled to speak and communicate…and despite wanting to pick up a pen and write a story similar to the ones I grew up on or even just sending my thoughts out into the world, I remained stagnate in thought and absent in action.
Over time I realised that I needed something to fuel the things I wanted to talk about. I needed a source of inspiration that filled me with not only self-conviction but a purpose and a drive that was so undeniable that it became absolutely necessary to take action and speak out loud.

From that, I understood that inspiration comes from two different parts of one’s life, the negative and the positive. It’s like two polar opposites that ignite a reaction and a release in our brains and in our souls that result in something big.

For me, it was a thought. And that thought was to create.
The stories I listened to as a child were always ones that were relatable and resonated with not only myself but so many others in so many different ways. For so long I thought I was alone, but that all changed when I decided to write and share. I feared that I would be considered crazy or stupid, but the response cured any self-doubt I had.

People shared in the experience. People shared in MY experience.
All of which was a breath of fresh air, considering one of my biggest fears was that I would be alone in all of my troubles. Ask anyone who’s been through anything…the worst feeling is when you have no one to share that nightmare with. As a result, you feel trapped by your own consciousness, and even when you do find an escape, those inner demons seem to corner you and suck you back in again.

But that for me was where inspiration was strongest. When I thought of those moments where my reality became my worst nightmare…when I felt embarrassed, weak, small or afraid, I turned to what I knew. I created words on a page all from each and every bad dream I had. Even though they were all so negative and upsetting, they were mine to share. No matter how many cheap knock-offs you may see, there can be nothing like my own story. My own storm that I could talk about and find some weird solace in.

Eventually, I welcomed the nightmares.
I learnt to sleep in the storm because I understood that that’s what made me who I am.

You look at the greatest people in history, in sport, in politics and in any other aspect of life. Their defining moments weren’t from when their life was easy…but rather when things were tough and they chose to overcome it.
JK Rowling was living off benefits as a single mother with several publications rejecting the manuscript for Harry motherfucking Potter before she became the worlds best-selling children’s author.
And so the biggest lesson in history is that despite how bad the nightmare is, we still can wake up to a brighter morning.

The trials of life aren’t something we should just walk away from.  Because the truth is that at some point we will lose. Sometimes a little and sometimes a lot.
But we should understand that learning from our losses is what really makes a difference. The stories we share with the world is what we leave behind, whether it’s a nightmare or a wonderful dream, that is our legacy.

For me, when its all said and done…when its spoken from a mouth that isn’t my own, it will be the tale of how I used the negative and turned it into a positive. Of how those nightmares became my reality and didn’t destroy me, how I chose to overcome the obstacles of life and of how I weathered the storm.