Dreams and Nightmares

Some days I just wait to go to sleep.

All day long.

All week long.

All month long.

All year long.

I usually wake up at the same time everyday.

And I try to go to sleep around the same time every night too.

I try to at least.

And when I wake up.

Normally, I instantly want it to be bedtime again.

It’s like I can’t get enough rest.

I don’t ever really feel refreshed from sleep.

But I know my brain works overtime every day.

So it needs the break.

I used to nap all the time.

I could never figure out why I was so tired.

Now it makes perfect sense.

All of this bullshit I hear is exhausting.

And I’ve been doing a good job of not taking naps lately.

Because I have absolutely used sleep as an escape.

As hiding from coping.

As relief from my rage.

For many years.

To usually not have to hear my brain for half of every twenty four hours.

Is everything.

And honestly, I love sleeping.

The absence of anything.

The absence of everything.

The absence of emotions.

For the most part.

I don’t dream too often anymore.

Thank fuck.

Dreams, more likely than not, aren’t fun for me.

Because they’re 99% nightmares.

Nightmares are the one thing that’s wrong with sleep.

I have recurring ones.

They haven’t been happening as often in the past few years.

Which is a welcomed change.

But even my sleep is laced with darkness.

There’s usually an older, Victorian home I’m in.

With modernish furniture.

And a dark, cramped basement.

There are tornadoes.

There’s almost always tornadoes.

When I was younger, it was vicious dinosaurs.

They would stampede toward me.

Trampling the line of trees in front of me.

As I got older the thing chasing me turned into tornadoes.

And normally there’s several of them.

Coming towards me.

I’d have to find shelter.

Somewhere in that same Victorian home.

And I was always terrified.

With a pounding chest they’d be overhead.

And then there is nothing.

No ending.

Just nothing.

Lately, my dreams usually entail me not being able to do something that’s extremely important.

Like move quick enough.

Save myself.

I just know that my body feels like warm, thick taffy.

Slow moving.

And sticky.

I’m always unable to gather my strength.

Like, I’ll go to defend myself.

And my punch will be as strong as a light slap.

I can’t ever run.

I’ll be stuck in quicksand-like material.

But it’s pavement.

I’m completely unable to move properly.

Unable to save myself.

I remember in the hospital I started to have the apocalyptic nightmares.

Me on the run.

Trying to stay alive.

I think it started from the employees talking at nurse’s station all day and night.

And the blood pressure monitor being rolled down the hall.

But the dreams still show up.

And they’re awful.

My dreams tend to be about me.

I’m by myself.

Fighting for survival of some sort.

On a no-destination journey.

No future awaiting.

There are other people too.

Someone I’ve seen.

Or someone from my past.

The other people in my dreams can rarely be trusted.

I get abandoned in my dreams a lot.

People tend to stab me in the back.

Are actually leading a different life.

Or they just leave me.

Sometimes people are traveling with me.

They’ll surface just before something awful happens.

And before I know it.

They’re gone.

And I’m alone again.

Frightened and tired.

Then there’s nothing.

No ending.

Just nothing.

There can be voices non stop when I’m awake.

And then the nightmares or shit dreams when I’m asleep.

There’s no escape from it all.

It’s everywhere.

It’s debilitating.

I honestly haven’t felt rested in a very long time.

I feel like my mind is constantly fighting itself.

Even when I’m sleeping.

It’s fighting off the fucking horrible things that I’m hearing.

It’s fighting off all of my hallucinations and delusions.

It’s fighting off my subconscious.

I just noticed something.

As I’m writing all of this out.

I’m understanding that my dreams reflect my reality.

I feel so alone in life.

Not regarding family.

But regarding everything else.

I feel so lost since my meds have been slowly clearing up my mind.

I’ve always felt like it was me vs the world.

And my dreams concrete that feeling.

The solo survival shituations I find myself in.

They perpetuate this feeling of loneliness I hold onto.

Self preservation.

Unable to trust my surroundings.

All of my dreams and nightmares are extremely reflective of my life.

Or at least.

How I feel about my life.

They are there and there’s nothing I can do about it.

And maybe they’re fading recently because I’m slowly starting to feel better about my life.

And starting to feel better about my overall health.

– Keren

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