When I woke up the morning after the New Year, I had no idea what I had just experienced.
As it turned out, I’d been living through a nightmare.
I was a member of a group of young, beautiful, beautiful women who had been dreaming about being a model and had ended up in a hotel room in New York, with the curtains drawn.
I wasn’t aware that this had happened to me or that my dreams were the product of a conspiracy of my subconscious mind.
My experience had been the culmination of a dream in which I’d dreamed of being a beauty queen and a musician.
In this dream, I was the first model in the world to be invited to be photographed by a photographer for the fashion magazine, Vogue.
As the article describes, the dream had been triggered by the publication of a series of photographs taken by a fashion photographer in France called Michel Aubry, whose work I admired and who was at the time, based in New Orleans, the director of a fashion exhibition called Tango.
Aubry had shot the photographs in the style of a model in Paris’s La Belle Époque and the photographs were shot in an era when people were wearing a mask and covering their eyes and mouth.
The photos had been taken in a studio in Paris where the models had been working out in a gymnasium.
The images showed the women, wearing nothing but the bare skin of their faces and eyes.
It’s the type of image that many women would dream about, especially if they were young.
But when I awoke in a New York hospital the next morning, the images had been a complete shock.
I was the last person in the room, and when I looked around, the whole room was white.
There were no faces.
I could barely recognise my surroundings.
In the morning, I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach, as if my body had been shattered by a fist, as though my heart had been crushed by a hammer.
After my awakening, I tried to remember what I’d done to provoke this dream and how I’d come to be at the centre of a scandal that would lead to my arrest.
I couldn’t recall anything about the moment I’d experienced it.
I’d only recently started to learn the difference between dreaming and dreaming through the help of a psychologist and a psychiatrist who had studied dreams for nearly two decades.
So when I woke in the morning of New Year’s Eve, I knew what had happened: I’d taken part in a conspiracy.
When I woke, I did not have any recollection of the event that had just taken place.
And then, of course, there was my dream.
This is not my story.
This is not how I was dreaming about the dream that I was in.
If I was going to be a model, I needed to find a way to express my dreams in the way that I wanted to.
While it’s true that I’ve been an ardent follower of models in the fashion industry since I was 11, I’m now 25, and I’ve struggled with what it is that I want to express to my friends and family about my dream of modelling.
Before I was born, I loved dressing up in the most extravagant outfits, but I didn’t think I was capable of expressing myself in this way.
What did I want?
What was my aim?
There were times when I’d just want to dress up like the models that I had seen, but there was something else.
That’s when I was drawn to the idea of dreaming about it.
Dreams were a way of expressing what I needed from the world around me, I said.
For example, one time I dreamed that I walked through a forest with a black cape, as I’d seen in a film, and was walking along a path with a big black cat.
I knew I was dressed in black because I was holding the cape, so I just thought it was my destiny.
“There is something beautiful in the darkness,” I told myself.
Sometimes I’d dream about a certain person, and it would take me back to my childhood, I told the psychologist.
One of the things I’ve learned is that there is a limit to how far you can dream and that when you are trying to express your feelings, your body has to be ready.
However, the psychologist told me that you can’t stop your body from responding.
You have to take responsibility for what you’re doing and be ready to say or do what you need to say.
Of course, I have to admit, I often felt that I could not say the things that I really wanted to say, that I couldn�t be as eloquent and as witty as the models.
Still, I started to notice that I didn�t want to be an example of someone who was not strong enough