The room that doesn't exist

 It was just a dream. But I still remember how real it was. The dread of it. The horrible, sinking dread.

It was underneath a trap door and down a decrepit hallway full of doors that didn't work. At the end of the hall was a room that was familiar yet wrong. My old bedroom, yet nothing in it was familiar but a bare full size mattress. It was there I felt it. 

It felt like my grave. 

I knew I was going to rot in there. The room was where I would die. There was no escaping it. There was no way out. 

That room wasn't real. It was just a dream. Yet sometimes I remember how it was in that home that felt like a prison. The home where I rotted. Where I couldn't imagine living to see another day. Stuck forever in a place I could only hate and drown in. 

The room was supposed to be a dream but I know I lived in it. Sometimes I feel like I never truly escaped it. Because the room had no escape. There is no such thing. 

I remember it. I wish I could forget. 

It was never a dream.

Yet why am I here?