Merciless. Tireless. Relentless.
Those are the only words running through my mind as I pass into conscious thought through another night of lucidly painful pseudo-realities. What else CAN I think? Monotonous periods of blank time don’t rid me of them. Wonderfully heightened states of euphoric comfort don’t cast them to the winds. In fact, I’m beginning to think the only safe haven from this visual vendetta of my subconscious is within exhausting hours of cruel vigilant perception.
I’m attempting to sustain a logical mindset about this, but it’s a fairly complicated position to retain. Even with what little information I’ve collected over the years of dream recognition and manipulation, it seems that my mind runs as a feverish hive of dramatized atrocities congregated neatly into clips of brief agony. This hasn’t been a merely recent string of happenings either. For years now, I’ve been plagued with what seems to be the inability to rest peacefully. This could be because of multiple reasons, the most obvious of course being experiences that I’ve endured. However, it must be noted that none of these ever happened directly to me. Most of the fears and anxiety at that time were swept under the rug forcibly in order for me to maintain a healthy lifestyle and continue to run my gaming community. In retrospect I consider this to be a mistake, as I’ve never properly taken the time to reflect on all that I had learned or took away from those trials of vicarious mortality.
What I fail to grasp though, is why it is night after fucking night I am forced to shove through a painstakingly long movie ending in my untimely demise, and then strapped down in hallucinatory paralysis while the events around me have unfolded and are now seemingly running as postmortem rituals would inevitably run. There’s no evident purpose as to why this is! It feels as if my subconscious is for some reason attempting to convey a message to me but for some cruel reason the message is lost within a miasma of vengeful nightmares designed only to instill a sense of overbearing trepidation in me. I’m not sure if it’s guilt, or remorse, perhaps animosity, or even my own pre-existing worry; all that remains clear is that there has never been a clear course of action to remove myself from purgatory and it seems that this pattern will continue until I can trace the source of my issues.
There’s no clear repetition either. No themes recreated, nor images perfectly echoed or executioner ever re-employed. The familiar faces in the dream are of course the same projections I’m used to. My social circle is already small enough as is, therefore the dreams couldn’t possibly manage to slim down the list of contacts shorter than it already is. I’m honestly having serious complications piecing it together as well. Granted, I’m not that qualified at dissecting such intricate and complex images, nor do I possess the psychological prowess capable of navigating through my memories to find the catalysts for such dreams. What am I capable of, you might ask? I’m an expert now on what it’s like to come to terms with facing death and accepting its imminent, and awe-inspiring fatalism. How could I possibly know? Allow me to explain.
As a victim of my own mind, I’ve been:
Stabbed repeatedly, shot with multiple caliber rounds, ran over by several vehicles of substantial make and model, exsanguinated by multitudes of razor-sharp objects, dismembered by various methods, locked into an iron maiden, drowned in dozens of hopeless situations, dropped off high-elevation structures, electrocuted violently between multiple conduits, suffocated at the end of a noose, beheaded by quite a few unpleasant people, crushed in several collisions while motoring, contracted disgusting symptoms from biological weapons, instantly disintegrated by a tactical nuclear device, severed in two by a high-tension wire, imploded by the pressures of deep space, eaten alive by numerous predators…including a shark, poisoned by way of food and drink, beaten violently, had my spine stabbed by a lance, melted by sulfuric acid, burned alive in an oil fire, and last but not least; killed in the gas chambers during the holocaust.
Needless to say, I’m often not a happy fucking camper upon awakening. The puddle of cold sweat tends to make me slightly uncomfortable, and I daresay right about now I envy Cobb from Inception; forever incapable of dreaming on his own. It would make unconsciousness so much more enjoyable. I hope I’m not stuck wandering in the darkened side of my own mind. It’s lonely here, and I’m starting to think I’m the only person who is afraid to close their eyes.