We are born

In the dream she is always giving birth. It is always a girl. I am by her side and she is either angry at me or saying something whimsical. In the dream I had last night, she was angry. As she pushed out her baby girl, she said things to me that are true and the reason I am addicted to substances that may or may not alter my reality. Her husband is often kind to me in the dream, as he is kind in real life. It is always a girl. The baby is screaming, and I am waking up, sweating.

I told her once I wanted a girl as my first born and she said, "After what we went through together?"

She just stopped smoking cigarettes. Her life was always a life or death situation. She drank and almost drowned in a bathtub, took so much medication she was vomiting uncontrollably and went on dialysis. Never again, she swore, will that happen. Nothing is worth the pain of that procedure. I don't know what that feels like, to hit rock bottom so hard you go sober instead of craving the crashing of waves.

We had a falling out and she never spoke to me again. I am a bad person. I wish I could smoke but it's too expensive. I want to wistfully lift one to my lips and breathe in the toxins that embody my personality. She said I am not my disease. I slammed the door. I don't know much about apologies, but damn am I good on autopilot.

The dream. She is giving birth. It is always a girl. The women we have become are so impressive, so accomplished, and yet we don't speak. I still want my first born to be a girl. I don't want the nightmare, the fallacy, anymore. I want my sister back but instead I'm left waking up as she whispers what are her final words to me in her peaceful world.