Last night I dreamt that I wasn’t myself.
At first the dream was not particularly interesting. It was a normal wandering about in the world dream, the type that a partner might listen to but only with partial interest as not to seem rude. You’re not quite the captive audience, so I won’t go into detail on the beginning. It’s the ending that made me awake feeling uncomfortable, mostly because of how many times I went through that same damn ending.
It was partly similar to the previous nights. I’d wake up and feel like someone was in the room, but whereas on those nights it would be a struggle to fall back to sleep, even if I wanted to stay awake last night, I was drawn back into the same dream each time.
At the same point.
I would be walking down the street, in clothes that didn’t look like any I own or would own (a knee skimming skirt and long-sleeved loose blouse) and I would approach a car, and hesitate for a minute with that same feeling of being watched I’ve been experiencing while awake.
I would then think nothing of the brief chill that caused goosebumps to rise on my shoulders, and instead get into the car. It was only upon checking the mirror that I’d see, despite the life I had been living previously in the dream, and the way that I acted and talked (much more confident) that it was my face staring back at me. I didn’t greet it with the usual sunken feeling in my stomach, instead I fixed a piece of loose blonde hair as though it mattered very little, pulled on the seat belt and started the ignition.
All of this would have been a very pleasant dream, perhaps of an ideal version of my life, until this next point.
The shortest moment in the dream. The crash.
At least, I think it’s a crash. I think from the way my head jolts forward and stomach lurches upwards that something has crashed into the back of the car. I get that same cold feeling I was talking about, followed by a heat that travels through my veins. I spoke about this in yesterday’s post. I think then, that I must die, because I wake up and I’ve been told you can’t die in a dream.
This happened about four or five times. Which might not sound like much, but by the time I was able to keep my eyes open and truly fight being dragged back into sleep, my body ached and I leaned my head over the side of the bed thinking I was about to vomit. It was like riding a rollercoaster one too many times in the middle of Summer.
Even worse, I felt that presence in the room every time I woke up. I felt that it was closer than usual. That I was being drugged and unable to defend myself. I felt my body tighten just now in only writing about it.
It’s as though whatever is in the room is playing games with me. I wanted sleep and so now I have it, but it comes with its own terms and conditions, and who reads those, really?
I’m pretty exhausted today and so it doesn’t matter how much I want to avoid that room; I imagine I’ll be in bed and out of it within minutes of my head hitting the pillow. I just hope I don’t have that same dream. Not only because it left me feeling physically sick, but because dreams are precious and should be reserved for more fun things, not boring and repetitive rubbish.
Anyway, that’s all there was too it. Fingers crossed for restful sleep!
note: check the tags, this is fiction!