I'm standing next to the bed and sit down on my side of the bed, my wife is already in and reading a book. She asks me about something. She looks at me while I give a short but funny answer. Her face expresses amusement and annoyance at the same time. I'm tired. We can hear her parents downstairs reacting to whatever is on television. I'm happy they are with us now. We have enough room.

I wake up and my eyes see the very familiar nightstand with my phone on it. The anxiety kicks in the moment I realize it was all a dream. I'm alone in my bed and alone in my room, alone in my small apartment and it's cold. And it hurts. I wake up and there is pain, somewhere behind my lungs, it stings. And in 30 minutes I have to get up to go to my full time job, to another day of embarrassment because I cannot communicate anymore, because I can't fake a smile anymore. Somehow I still manage to sit up straight and put my legs on the floor, but as soon as I stand up everything moves out of focus. Not out of vertigo, but from all the same old thoughts and questions that bombard me as soon as I started another day doing something against my will. Why am I still doing this? For 16 years I go to work and come home alone. For what? For who? I'm miserable. I'm breaking apart.