Dan Dreams Again: I See Dead People
Okay, this shit is getting way the hell out of hand.
Over the past few weeks, I've had quite a few vivid dreams and in all of this vivid and lucid dreams, I've dreamt of dead people. And I always know that I'm dreaming. I'm well aware these people are dead. I'm aware that certain aspects of the dream are just creations of my mind. Why am I being strapped down and forced to watch this shit every night? What's going on? I'm mentioning this to my therapist in our next meeting...which honestly can't come fast enough. It's getting to the point where I don't want to sleep at night. Hey, that's another thing I just noticed. These kinds of dreams of dreams only happen at night. If I take a nap during the afternoon, I don't dream of dead people, ghosts or me being sucked into some form of Hell where I'll be throat raped for eternity. There's gotta be something to that.
Over the past few weeks, I've had quite a few vivid dreams and in all of this vivid and lucid dreams, I've dreamt of dead people. And I always know that I'm dreaming. I'm well aware these people are dead. I'm aware that certain aspects of the dream are just creations of my mind. Why am I being strapped down and forced to watch this shit every night? What's going on? I'm mentioning this to my therapist in our next meeting...which honestly can't come fast enough. It's getting to the point where I don't want to sleep at night. Hey, that's another thing I just noticed. These kinds of dreams of dreams only happen at night. If I take a nap during the afternoon, I don't dream of dead people, ghosts or me being sucked into some form of Hell where I'll be throat raped for eternity. There's gotta be something to that.
It started off in total blackness.
I just burst into consciousness in the dream. The dream itself was really dark, a lot of darkness in the dream. There were people I didn't know there, but they were supposed aunts and uncles of mine. They didn't look familiar, but I felt safe with them like I knew them. It's said that in dreams that humans don't have the ability to recreate faces, but some studies have shown that humans can recreate faces based off the visual input of people in their lives; even if they're just brief encounters or even passing them on the street. People can take features from others and inmesh them together to form an entirely new face. Brains are cool.
They were telling me that the house used to be a mortuary and if I was really quiet I could hear all the souls that are trapped inside here. They couldn't move on. I didn't understand. Move on to where? How could something that's formless be trapped? Maybe they're suspended in the air molecules. How do they not get torn apart? The looked down at me like I was little, but I wasn't a child and I wasn't an adult. I couldn't see myself in the dream, but it was all through my eyes.
They lead me down steps bathed in lime green light to the basement where mortuary equipment was housed. I'd never seen this before. It felt eerie. Like it wasn't my home anymore. How could this have been hidden from me? Why was it hidden from me? Something didn't feel right. Before I could question anything, I felt hands around my throat. I was being choked to death by something invisible. I flailed and managed to get loose. The two people who I realised I didn't know, loomed down on me. Their imposter person suits, peeling down the middle and demons breaking loose. They had long white tongues and matching white eyeholes. Their jaws were pink, stained with carnal pleasure and claws or razors reaching out for me. I screamed as they tore at my flesh, knocking me through the upper floor and back onto one of the silver tables in the morgue below. "You're ourssss." They hissed at me before one of them tore out my throat and I was blinded by a white light.
Then it cuts to another dream, it's about the same time period as well. I'm in Australia with Ralph. I have no idea what we're doing there, I think we're on holiday. I leave him alone in the room go sightseeing and take in the culture. (I'm still dying to go to Austalia). I'd rented us a house by the sea. I was hesitant to leave Ralph alone because he was showing signs of memory loss or dementia, but he didn't want to go and I spent a lot of money to get there. I don't know why I brought him. I got back to the house to find him gone. I was struck with anger that he wandered off and the feeling of "oh fuck, I need to find him". I made up flyers and printed them out hanging them all over the shops. I asked everyone I ran into to help me find him. I was running around trying to find him, then the dream went black.
I just burst into consciousness in the dream. The dream itself was really dark, a lot of darkness in the dream. There were people I didn't know there, but they were supposed aunts and uncles of mine. They didn't look familiar, but I felt safe with them like I knew them. It's said that in dreams that humans don't have the ability to recreate faces, but some studies have shown that humans can recreate faces based off the visual input of people in their lives; even if they're just brief encounters or even passing them on the street. People can take features from others and inmesh them together to form an entirely new face. Brains are cool.
They were telling me that the house used to be a mortuary and if I was really quiet I could hear all the souls that are trapped inside here. They couldn't move on. I didn't understand. Move on to where? How could something that's formless be trapped? Maybe they're suspended in the air molecules. How do they not get torn apart? The looked down at me like I was little, but I wasn't a child and I wasn't an adult. I couldn't see myself in the dream, but it was all through my eyes.
They lead me down steps bathed in lime green light to the basement where mortuary equipment was housed. I'd never seen this before. It felt eerie. Like it wasn't my home anymore. How could this have been hidden from me? Why was it hidden from me? Something didn't feel right. Before I could question anything, I felt hands around my throat. I was being choked to death by something invisible. I flailed and managed to get loose. The two people who I realised I didn't know, loomed down on me. Their imposter person suits, peeling down the middle and demons breaking loose. They had long white tongues and matching white eyeholes. Their jaws were pink, stained with carnal pleasure and claws or razors reaching out for me. I screamed as they tore at my flesh, knocking me through the upper floor and back onto one of the silver tables in the morgue below. "You're ourssss." They hissed at me before one of them tore out my throat and I was blinded by a white light.
Then it cuts to another dream, it's about the same time period as well. I'm in Australia with Ralph. I have no idea what we're doing there, I think we're on holiday. I leave him alone in the room go sightseeing and take in the culture. (I'm still dying to go to Austalia). I'd rented us a house by the sea. I was hesitant to leave Ralph alone because he was showing signs of memory loss or dementia, but he didn't want to go and I spent a lot of money to get there. I don't know why I brought him. I got back to the house to find him gone. I was struck with anger that he wandered off and the feeling of "oh fuck, I need to find him". I made up flyers and printed them out hanging them all over the shops. I asked everyone I ran into to help me find him. I was running around trying to find him, then the dream went black.
I then had the dream come back into focus and I was driving down familiar streets, the situation racing through my head. He wandered off. I can't leave him. He's in a country he's never been to before and is ill. Something could happen. He's in his fucking slippers for Christ's sake. And I'm running. I need to catch him. I've put up flyers but-then I see him in my head, along the road miles ahead, but the road is one a few miles from our actual house, which is not in Australia. I crossed the street, dashing through people.I started to slow down and I realised I was chained down. I looked behind me and I was dragging a large easel. It looked like the one I had as a child-one side was for paper and the other was a chalkboard with the alphabet stencilled across the top in a brilliant white. The board even had the same paint stains on the sides, where with paint-coated hands, I'd grabbed the easel to move it.
I try to break free from it, jostling my arms around, shaking them, but the chain just won't break. It has a photo of Ralph from when I was a child and he was in his early 50's. I was sitting on his lap and we were both smiling. I can't look at the photo. It seems haunting to see their eyes on me. It feels evil. I pull away from the image, the information above the photo swirling through my head. I look up and see Ralph far in the distance. All of the shops along the street were the same that they were when I was little and would visit him and Barb as a little bright-eyed child. He turns and sees me. He waves then signal for me to follow him. He smirks. He knows I'm going to chase him. Something's not right. I break free from the chain and race ahead, but before I can get close golden light cracks around me and everything shatters in early morning coloured light. I wake up to see Kinder staring at me.
Let's have a wee look at what's happened here.
There is no way the house was a mortuary before. My great aunt built that house herself and I'm pretty sure she didn't build a blood drain in the place. Maybe she did. I only knew her when I was very little. I remember when she died. I was about 7. She was in her late 90's. It really spooked the shit out of me too. She had Alzheimer's and died in a nursing home, but before she died one of the residents had gotten loose and was running through the woods. I remember my mum reading the notice in the paper. She told me to stay out of the woods and only stay where my nan could see me because if I wandered away the woman could hurt me. Why would she put that idea in my head? I used to have nightmares of a psychotic elderly woman with long grey hair in a silver dress running through the trees coming to get me. Sometimes I still think about that and it's unsettling. Horrors of childhood have made me into what I am. Great.
There is no way the house was a mortuary before. My great aunt built that house herself and I'm pretty sure she didn't build a blood drain in the place. Maybe she did. I only knew her when I was very little. I remember when she died. I was about 7. She was in her late 90's. It really spooked the shit out of me too. She had Alzheimer's and died in a nursing home, but before she died one of the residents had gotten loose and was running through the woods. I remember my mum reading the notice in the paper. She told me to stay out of the woods and only stay where my nan could see me because if I wandered away the woman could hurt me. Why would she put that idea in my head? I used to have nightmares of a psychotic elderly woman with long grey hair in a silver dress running through the trees coming to get me. Sometimes I still think about that and it's unsettling. Horrors of childhood have made me into what I am. Great.
So I know the history of the house...Maybe this is just me looking at career options and it being stuck in my head. Elements from waking life coming into play. Maybe this is me thinking about what kind of goes on in a mortuary. Perhaps it's the imagery of watching Six Feet Under all last week creeping in since they live in the funeral home. What a way to live. Makes for a short commute to work. And-FUCK. People died in the house that I'm in. Maybe that also that playing through my head. I do walk through the rooms each day. It's the same, but different. The rooms themselves haven't really changed. It's almost like they're a landmark in time-that's only because I'm not allowed to move their shit until the estate goes to probate court...in 6 months. I don't know if they should be able to ask this from me. Maybe I need to get out of here, too bad I'm trapped here...and trapped in my head. Please head, kick me out.
The people becoming monsters are probably a representation of what I'm struggling with right now. I'm facing the monsters inside of me and I can't cope with the stress of it entirely, so it's trying to work itself out in my dreams. It's a manifestation of me confronting myself in my subconscious which is something I'm afraid to do and trying to do. I'm having to really face my fears here and get my act together. I've heard of stress manifesting in dreams, but could it do it a little bit more subtlely please? These images are just horrifying and they leave me exhausted. Being exhausted isn't the way one wants to work on their psychological demons and mental health problems.
All these things from childhood. It's no secret that I'm obsessed with the 90's. It's just that it was a better time to be alive, that society was at a peak culture and art-wise, it's the fact that I had a future then. I've realised that part of my obsession with the past is just because I had a future before me.I was optimistic about the world. I didn't know all that I know now. I wanted to grow up. I didn't know that growing up was a trap. I didn't know about all the horrible shit that I'd endure. I'm caught up in the negatives and horrifying shit that I've lived through. I've not been able to heal the scars inflicted on me by others and myself. I need to learn how and allow the scar tissue to close the wounds that still bleed, stripping me of happiness and success. These are part of the things that hold my head under the water as I vigorously fight to surface.
Me dreaming about elements from the past are both my conscious and subconscious urges to return and redo. It's my childish need to re-write time. It's me wanting to escape the burdens that I now face both with mental health and adulthood. It's me wanting to not deal with things because I feel that I don't have the tools and out of sheer laziness. It's me not wanting to be confronted with the fact I'm not a whole human being. It's me not wanting to see that I'm blind. I'd rather just pull the wool over my eyes and ignore it, just as I always do. I can't do that anymore. My dreams and nightmares are making that pretty apparent. It's time for little Danny to lace up his trainers, straighten his tie and face adulthood and stop playing with toy cars, crying for naps and daydreaming while staring at the clouds. A part of me doesn't want to, but if I want to lessen these nightmares, I need to get a handle on things and slow this train before it de-rails once again and I'm being pulled off the roof of the train cab.
I think the dementia-memory loss is a reflection of what I struggle with. Not dementia, but losing time, things just wandering off in my head. It's coming true in life. As well as thinking back to Ralph's last days when he was confused, disorientated and didn't know up from down. The byproduct of his condition led to the confusion and it wasn't dementia. It's still on my mind a little over three weeks later. It's a normal amount of time, but I feel like maybe for me it might be a bit long to dwell on it. Maybe its a fear of mine, the kidney failure
I think the dementia-memory loss is a reflection of what I struggle with. Not dementia, but losing time, things just wandering off in my head. It's coming true in life. As well as thinking back to Ralph's last days when he was confused, disorientated and didn't know up from down. The byproduct of his condition led to the confusion and it wasn't dementia. It's still on my mind a little over three weeks later. It's a normal amount of time, but I feel like maybe for me it might be a bit long to dwell on it. Maybe its a fear of mine, the kidney failure
I know the photo doesn't exist. It was spotched together by my rattled brain off of a family portrait from 1994 and a portrait from 1996 of him and my grandmother together. I've seen both portraits recently, both in the basement as I was going through their old photos and getting rid of some things. And I was asked to draw a portrait of them with one of my large floral backgrounds. I know why those things were in the dream; just things that were on my mind. It's not for nostalgia purposes either. When I looked at that family portrait of my parents, grandparents, great-grandmother, my cousin and his parents I was struck by how different everything is. My parents are divorced. I have two other siblings. My uncle is currently on his third wife. I never see my cousin. (Thankfully, because he's a giant cock stain.) I'm not the person in the photo. I'm not a little kid and other things have certainly changed too. Looking at that photo, if someone told me that I'd be the way that I am now, be what I am now, I'd never have believed them. And the three in the back row, Barb, Ralph & Great Nan G, are all dead. It's true nobody knows where our secrets go.
Erst stirbst du doch dann lebst du weiter.
Erst stirbst du doch dann lebst du weiter.
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