I'm sure people had horrible night terrors and handled them better than I did. Saying mine aloud made them feel inconsequential. "A mirror or the reflection from water. I see me-starving, skeletal, always trying to say something. I fade to dust and I realize it isn't really me. It's Vachala." A calmness was settling over me. For years I kept this hidden. My father never knew. My mother died with me hating her, but more than that I hated my weakness. Even now I couldn't find a way to ...