Nightmares
Oct. 19th, 2012 09:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talonkarrdeAs part of a writing duel with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mahmoth, on the subject 'Nightmares', to be written in two hours and be between 450 and 550 words.
---
To the good doctor:
I have long since kept a journal, not since my days as a young boy, but this letter is the closest thing to it. I write to you to plead for asssistance, and to establish some sanctuary in a confused world, one that seems to be escaping from me, day by day.
These words, freshly inked, already serve some purpose in grounding me, so that I remember that these dreams, these hallucinations, these night terrors - they are not real. And yet, how real they seem, doctor. I hope you have seen a case like mine.
It has been weeks since they started - before that, I dreamt as others did, of life and other-life, of many things that made no sense at all. There were nights where I woke with sweat upon my brow, but also nights when I was disappointed that I was to wake at all, so happy were my visions.
But not recently.
Three weeks ago, my dreams started becoming curiously regular. Instead of the usual dreams that I have had: of falling endlessly, of flying, of seeing myself in a mirror, I started dreaming of parts of my ordinary day. I would 'wake up' in the dream, go through my morning rituals, and then go to work, all as I do normally. Sometimes, the dream would start midway through the day, others at the end, but in all cases, there was nothing fantastical - except, of course, that I woke up from them.
It was odd enough that I consulted a doctor, of course, but there was really nothing too malicious and the doctor simply told me that it would pass with time.
Then the dreams changed and became fantastical - in the morning, I would be shaving, and my reflection would smile at me, and then start crying tears of blood as 'I' cut my throat. At work, my mug of coffee would have a cockroach writhing in it, despite being completely clean the second before, and then a flood of them would drop from the ceiling. These nightmares — no longer dreams — did nothing for my rest, but at least I knew they weren't real, I woke up, abruptly, just a bit after.
Last week, it turned worse. Instead of fantastical occurrences, my nightmares turned ever more subtle. In one, my wife would not speak to me at all; in another, my coworkers berated me for a bad presentation. They were in dreams - but they were so realistic that I could not be sure whether they had happened! In the last few days, I have apologized for things I've never said, and not responded to things that had, because I was sure it was simply a nightmare.
From yesterday, I have a wound in my right hand — my wife lost her patience and I believed I was in a dream; I stabbed myself in the hand, but I was not dreaming.
Last night, in my dreams, the wound was there.
I have learned something, in these last few weeks, that I would share with you, doctor: the fantastic is not scary, for it is not real. What is terrifying, what is to be feared, is the mundane, when it is turned against us. It can drive a man to do terrible things.
mahmoth, on the subject 'Nightmares', to be written in two hours and be between 450 and 550 words. ---
To the good doctor:
I have long since kept a journal, not since my days as a young boy, but this letter is the closest thing to it. I write to you to plead for asssistance, and to establish some sanctuary in a confused world, one that seems to be escaping from me, day by day.
These words, freshly inked, already serve some purpose in grounding me, so that I remember that these dreams, these hallucinations, these night terrors - they are not real. And yet, how real they seem, doctor. I hope you have seen a case like mine.
It has been weeks since they started - before that, I dreamt as others did, of life and other-life, of many things that made no sense at all. There were nights where I woke with sweat upon my brow, but also nights when I was disappointed that I was to wake at all, so happy were my visions.
But not recently.
Three weeks ago, my dreams started becoming curiously regular. Instead of the usual dreams that I have had: of falling endlessly, of flying, of seeing myself in a mirror, I started dreaming of parts of my ordinary day. I would 'wake up' in the dream, go through my morning rituals, and then go to work, all as I do normally. Sometimes, the dream would start midway through the day, others at the end, but in all cases, there was nothing fantastical - except, of course, that I woke up from them.
It was odd enough that I consulted a doctor, of course, but there was really nothing too malicious and the doctor simply told me that it would pass with time.
Then the dreams changed and became fantastical - in the morning, I would be shaving, and my reflection would smile at me, and then start crying tears of blood as 'I' cut my throat. At work, my mug of coffee would have a cockroach writhing in it, despite being completely clean the second before, and then a flood of them would drop from the ceiling. These nightmares — no longer dreams — did nothing for my rest, but at least I knew they weren't real, I woke up, abruptly, just a bit after.
Last week, it turned worse. Instead of fantastical occurrences, my nightmares turned ever more subtle. In one, my wife would not speak to me at all; in another, my coworkers berated me for a bad presentation. They were in dreams - but they were so realistic that I could not be sure whether they had happened! In the last few days, I have apologized for things I've never said, and not responded to things that had, because I was sure it was simply a nightmare.
From yesterday, I have a wound in my right hand — my wife lost her patience and I believed I was in a dream; I stabbed myself in the hand, but I was not dreaming.
Last night, in my dreams, the wound was there.
I have learned something, in these last few weeks, that I would share with you, doctor: the fantastic is not scary, for it is not real. What is terrifying, what is to be feared, is the mundane, when it is turned against us. It can drive a man to do terrible things.
