The Killer Dream

The last post I had written was also on the topic of dreams, but this one takes a different direction altogether.

Dreams. What are they? Are dreams our subconscious unloading the day's events in a weird visual representation? Are they a mixture of memories and wishes combined into a nonsensical way to help pass time while you sleep? No-one really knows the truth about dreams, only you. It is only you that lives to recall the dream as they are but a product of your imagination. Yet if that statement is true as such, then why do you have nightmares? Why would you wish to wake up with a sense of fear? Can you not control what images you view each night? Dreams are indeed peculiar.

Instead of feeling refreshed from a good night's sleep, you spend your waking moments trying to decode the happenings of your sleep. Though the question begs to be asked; what happens when your dreams are simply but a result from stress? Stress can do strange things to your body and it can dangerously affect your mental state. Sleep finds it hard to escape from. Instead, it unleashes a hellish variety of sleep disorders ranging from insomnia to sleep apnoea, RLS to narcolepsy. It is mixed into these disorders a strange act can be found - sleep paralysis. Have you ever woken suddenly, filled with dread and fear? Have you noticed something or someone in your room but you can't move from your spot in bed? Have you tried to scream? Did you notice that trying to blink proved futile. Quite literally you are paralysed. Science suggests that your brain has 'woken up' before REM (rapid eye movement - the time in which you dream) has finished and that the signal to your body to release itself from the 'switched off' mode has been delayed. Due to this delay, you can experience hallucinations, fear and even the feeling of death. Yet a simple solution to unparalyse yourself its to convince your body its still dreaming and within a few seconds, body movement can be restored. It is said that each person will experience this at least once in their lifetime. But what happens when your dream is a lot more sinister than waking up before REM?

Imagine the feeling of someone that is trying to kill you in your sleep. You will simply 'wake up' and everything would be fine. But what if that doesn't happen? As much as you try to jerk yourself awake, the dream deepens. A ghostly figure, or even a face you recognise, seems to take pleasure in your struggle. They wrap their hands around your neck, apply a force to your chest that restricts your breathing. You can feel your ribs aching under the pressure. You know it's a dream but everything you have been taught to do, doesn't work. You try to move more, screaming till you are at the point of tears, but no sound comes out. It's too late to calm down now and work out a logical way to escape the nightmare. You have passed the point of no return. What feels like hours, is simply minutes or even seconds, you finally break free from the gripping hold. However, the terror does not end there. You finally awaken to soaked bed sheets from your on sweat and tears. Your hands are still grasped tightly into your duvet. You are still paralysed with fear. Every noise in your room triggers more panic. You are afraid to stay awake, yet you dare not to close your eyes  in case the evilness returns. You know it will. It always does. Instead you lay perfectly still, as though you were dead, waiting for the dread to pass. You wait until the moment you feel safe to sleep again, though that wait may take up to an hour or two. Finally, you take the risk and fall into a restless sleep. The memory of that dream never fades. You will remember that dream ten years from now. On thing for sure, your next attack won't come as a shock. It's still an horrible experience though, but your body knows how to respond.

If you're like me, then you do expect more to come. It becomes a natural event, a simple reoccurring dream, like the rest. What you don't expect though, is to have two episodes in one night. You manage to break from from one but are then pulled straight into the next. Reality becomes distorted. You become afraid that you will never free the cycle. Your chest feels like it's being crushed. You can feel your tears run down your cheeks, yet its impossible to wipe them away. You are being held captive by your own body and mind. You wonder if you are going to survive the night. Reality slips away even further when another figure joins in on your torture. Just when you feel like giving up, a last final jolt brings you back to life. Did you just die? It sure felt like it. There would be no point in sleeping now as another dream would surely kill you. That's a definite.

This is all but a vicious cycle; being frightened of sleeping, the tired you become, which then produces these terrors. The lack of sleep and the stress of life may prove too much.

University Stories and Poems Part 1: Two Minds to Die

Two Minds to Die

I couldn’t save him.  And no miracle could ever change that.

**********************************

Jethro was one of those men; loud and obnoxious. No matter how many times a woman would try to put him in his place, he had a counter-argument ready at hand: “There’s no place for a woman in today’s society. It would be better if they just stayed out of sight and out of mind”.  The gentlemen, and that term was used loosely, of the 21st Century had not changed at all. They were still derogatory towards women, still finding faults at every possible chance, belittling them in front of other men.  Looking at Jethro, at the age of thirty-nine running his deceased father’s business, one would think that he would settle down with a suitable woman, but no.  This man standing at six foot four with dark short hair  groomed into a sleek style and a very fanciful taste in designers had no time for women. Even though his sparkling green eyes caused many to swoon in his presence, he regarded them as the worst of the worst, and after only one thing in life – a man’s soul. Once they possessed that target, the men might as well lose  their ability to live a successful life. Love and women make a man weak.

To the outside world, Jethro would have appeared to have been a hater of women all his life, but there was one exception; one that only his father and mother knew of. His relationship with his parents, when alive, was strained at the best of times; his father ignoring his existence, focusing mainly on the family business. The only time his father spoke was to discuss Jethro’s future.  His mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type unless you counted the marks made from leather on his back and the purplish stains on his body.  What haunted his mother to treat her own blood that way; no-one would ever know. More importantly, Jethro would never receive this closure to help him move on with his life. 

Things began to look up for Jethro when his parents reached the end of their time. The economy grew and so did his wealth. This was the beginning of the Aston Martin DB5’s as well as the chauffeured Rolls Royce, freshly pressed suits, well polished shoes with a gold plated Rolex attached to his wrist. He was living to accumulate his wealth.  Nothing could ever get in his way of luxury.  He held the world in his scrooge-like hands.  
Tonight, like any other, Jethro found himself sitting in his usual spot at the local gentleman's club, surrounded by people he barely liked. “There is nothing better in a man’s world then spending your riches on such fine products” he stated with a puff of smoke escaping his thinned out lips, a recently lit cigarette held between two fingers with ash ready to collapse onto the white linen covered table.  “Such lovely sweetness of these paper notes.” he went on to say. The endless talking about status and wealth made many of his acquaintances groan with displeasure, save for the ones who were on the same wavelength as dear Jethro. Those were the individuals who made his ego grew substantially larger, so much that the world seemed smaller than possible. 
 “I agree, though there is one thing I love perhaps that little bit more…” an associate said.
 “Do not say what I think you are about to say young man!” Jethro quickly interrupted with a clear complaint. “If you say the words my woman you are not man enough to be here.” This did not phase the fellow associate, instead he declared the words Jethro always wanted to avoid “My woman made me who I am today” he said gulping the malt whiskey down his throat.  It was possible to see the glare from Jethro’s eyes from the other side of the room.  A look which many had been on the receiving end of plenty of times. 
“Don’t spout such nonsense in my room. This goes to anyone and everyone. Women are nothing to us. Yes they may provide an heir to carry on our name and wealth, the latter being important, but the women themselves are useless. If you wish to talk about that irresponsible species then leave.”  He declared and found himself sat alone in what would seem as a library, the walls being covered in old mahogany bookcases, the rich fragrance of ink and paper as well as the itching of dust. He leaned back into the darkened leather Chester Armchair, and gazed up towards the ceiling. What had he become? A man so repulsed by the female gender, but it was no use in thinking.  It only led to more outrageous thoughts. If he carried on the way he was going, he would turn into one himself and that was no good. He didn’t need anyone.  He was a solitary person and it would always be that way.

**********************************

The antique ornament isolated in the corner of the library chimed a loud brass sound of midnight.  Where had the time gone to? It was only a few hours ago when Jethro was sipping the harsh liquor burning his throat as it went down. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on something inanimate, and it became apparent that he could not hold his liquor any more.  That was only explanation he could think of. “Hang on” the confused words echoed in the room. “How on earth did that appear here?” He fixed on an offending piece of material on a small polished chair. He pushed himself of his seat, and headed towards it, his black potent shoes tapping against the laminated wood.  One look and he felt bile rise up his throat. There resting, was a scarf. A women’s scarf.  A woman’s paisley patterned scarf.

**********************************

The next few days contained very little happenings, and so Jethro spent his time holed up in his charming office, counting the golden coins and demeaning anyone that dared to interrupt him. Though on a particular Monday, Jethro was blissfully unaware that his life was not as it seemed. Removing himself from his cluttered desk, Jethro decided it was time to leave his hiding place and head out to the headquarters; the young gentleman’s club where no doubt a few females would somehow be there, on the prowl looking for their next victim.  Putting the scarf incident behind him, though he still never unearthed the mystery as to where it came from, he stomped into the coat room and stopped suddenly.  Next to his tailor-made Russian coat, was a red jacket, which looked awfully like a young woman's. “Maybe that darn woman-lover brought her here and left it by mistake.” But all he could think was; he hadn’t seen any female here at all. Grabbing the item of clothing, he walked into the lounge area, lit a warm chestnut fire, and threw the jacket into the flames. Watching it turn to ashes, he hoped it would be the last of the craziness.  He walked out the door into the front porch facing the bitter cold in his face, asked aloud “Is this a coincidence or just some weird turn of events?” and blew the thought into the wind.

Upon entering the social gathering in the club, many heads turned to speculate Jethro. He could see it in their stares; He finally graces us with his presence, I see, or I wonder if he drinks himself into a stupor and acts all egotistical.  Why should he change who he was.  It was better to speak the truth, no matter how harsh than to lie all the way through one’s life.  Advancing towards the barman, the room rumbled with a “make mine a double scotch.” that way his presence would be known to everyone and there was no need to queue. 

“Finally giving up on your denial of a woman?” a scrawny brunette said beside him. Jethro gave her a wariy glance. He had no idea what to make of that statement. “Remember me? It's Adrianna” she continued. He looked at her as though she was speaking double-dutch. What sane woman would talk to him?  
 “Go away I have no time for such witch behaviour from you.” He finally answered and began to turn away from her. 
“Look mister, I don’t care what your problem is with me, but you clearly have woman troubles. Carrying a pair of French knickers in their pocket is not something a man like you would normally do in a place like this.” Jethro abruptly turned round and faced her. “Oh you’ve finally want to talk to me now. All this time I have taken a back stage approach to you, trying to help you sort out your problems. I have heard all about you. I have tried to remain on the fence, but now this you misogynistic evil man.!” He tried to search her face for something, unsure of what it was, but something. Maybe someone had set her up to annoy him, or to cause a scene perhaps. He opened his mouth to give a retort but she beat him to it “Don’t you dare say a word.” Her finger pointed at him and an angry look took over her “First you walk into this place like you own it; secondly you emotionally abuse us women, especially me, when all I have done is defend you.” in the midst of the next phrase her voice took a softer approach which surprised the hell out of him “I know what your past has been like, and I admire your strength, but to act the way you do towards women and then parade around your dirty laundry, or should I say hers, I feel sorry for you I really do.” And with that he exploded. 

 “What right have you to say such ridiculous things about me?  I have not been with any woman and nor will I ever. You wonder why I called you a witch. Well here is the answer” A loud scoff came from behind him, the room had suddenly gone quiet. But he didn’t care he just kept on going. “You women think you know everything when all you do is cause heartbreak, and you just get in the way. What business do you think you are to me? Nothing. Now I don’t care how you know my past but suggesting I have been frolicking around is nonsense. Now move out of my sight before I say something I would never regret.” He could feel his face going beet red and instead of Adelaide, or whatever her name was, moving away from him, she approached him with determination on her face, reached out towards his coat, and somehow pulled a pair of scanty red underwear from his pocket. He finally remembered what she had said “carrying French knickers in their pocket” French knickers? And with that bombshell he snarled towards those listening and left the club.

On returning home, he bid his chauffeur goodnight, thinking of French knickers, a red coat and paisley scarf. Had he been cavorting and simply forgot? Maybe it was the scotch. However he soon disregarded that reason straightaway and strode in the direction of his drinking cabinet, and poured himself a double on the rocks.

**********************************

The next morning, his head gave the impression that he had one too many.  He couldn’t even remember climbing in to bed. He searched his memories for some inclination of what happened.   A few moments passed as he laid in his bed, when unexpectedly, just like someone had switched on a light in his head, everything came rushing back; the confrontation with Adrianna, the double at the club, the doubles in the lounge, sitting in front of the fire and then nothing. Blank. His hand rubbed at his forehead to relieve the tension. In the corner of his eye he noticed his arm wasn’t bare like it normally would be when he went to sleep. In its place was a pale lemony coloured sleeve, the type you would see a woman wear as a nightgown. He slowly lifted up his velvet duvet and peeked downwards. It was definitely a nightgown. Jethro froze in place. Each of the random items he had found in what he thought was a safe home, were his. He quickly jumped out his bed, ripped the nightwear from his skin like it was burning him. Burning him like plastic in a fire.  Not caring about the only attire he was wearing at the moment, being his underwear, he rushed through the house like a madman searching for other women’s clothing. “I’m a...” the word became lodged in his throat. Woman. “I dress in those.” He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. To be fair, he did not even want to know? Motionless, he walked to the harbour in his home; the cabinet.  He took a crystallised glass, and poured himself one final glass of scotch.

**********************************

Dear Miss A. Chase,

I regret to inform you that the inquest for Mr Jethro Shaffer’s death was again ruled for suicide.  The evidence left is sufficient to support this. I have checked his previous medical records for any mental health issues or depression and it was apparent that his schizophrenia was left untreated. As the records are confidential to the patient I cannot say anything further. If you need any help getting any closure for the victim’s recent departure...

I couldn’t read any more.  A tear fell from my eyes, landing softly onto the letter. I was too late to save him. I, Adrianna, who took no drivel from men, let Jethro slip away. I let him feel alone, like he couldn’t turn to anyone.  I promised his father I would try. Even though they weren’t that close, his father still cared. Maybe I was too young to understand what he was asking at the time. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. The truth was; he would never listen.

Just One Huge Rant

I give up. I really do.

Today I realised I have blogged much these past few months and I've celebrated with this complaint. What the heck am I doing with my life? I seem to be living my life with other people's expectations. They want me to be this, that, or the other not taking into consideration what I want. I want to be a prison tutor, but no, apparrently I'm too weak or too much of a pushover to even succeed. Either that or I'm more likely to sleep with one of my students. Great judgement of my life. Why do people need to feel like they have to judge me, or mock what I want to do? Is their life that boring that they feel the need to belittle mine? That, I do not have the answer to.

Another point I'd like to make is my love life. This is were I get a little hypocritical. I expect my love to trust and respect me but I can't seem to trust him. Well not so much him, but others around. Low self esteem and confidence issues have taken control (well thats one excuse thats highly used), the other reason is I know how the majority of skanks work. How can I say to someone I love, yes love, that I don't like him having a life outside of me when there is a lot of temptation around? Oh I hate the label boyfriend and girlfriend too. Just so tacky and overused. Once labels have been placed people expect you to act a certain way, compromise, and basically give up your life to be with that person. Believe me I've seen it happen. You get caught up in a bubble and once an outsider worms their way in, everything changes. Why others feel the need to invade a bubble of which is not theirs I have no idea. Again it all comes down to expectations.

People expect me to be able to read minds, to be perfectly happy all the time, to be normal. Well I'm afraid the more expectations you have of me, the more it those expectations will be thrown out of the window or down a drain somewhere.
Oh and a final thing, why do people constantly make plans with me when they know they are going to make up some bullshit excuse and cancel!

Love from an angry person

You see there's no real ending....

.... It's only the beginning

I sometimes think that this world is too real and fixed on the proper. What is to say that what is right is wrong, and what is wrong is right. What happens if the "mad" people are actually the sane ones in the world, and the sane are actually mentally unstable. Society today shows us what is deemed improper. I am not justifying certain mental states here, such as those who kill or cause any harm to others, but the types that use such an enormous part of the brain; creating worlds of their own. Such usage of the brain is liberating and imaginitave. Certain mental illnesses are not what they seem.

Take a look in the mirror. You have a choice. To look at yourself and see what rules and conditions who have been brought up with. Look at how you choose paths in life. The "right" paths. The ones that are deemed socially correct. See how your every day language changes when more rules are placed upon you. See how your mind is only capable of being creative to an extent that doesnt push boundaries. You dress how you are expected to dress. You speak your mind when it is acceptable, but you edit. That is what the world is - an edited version of what it should be.

Now this is where an option appears.

Do you continue to follow the norms as you have done since growing up, or do you take another path? One that is "wrong". One that is socially and politically improper. Do you choose how you use your mind? Do you speak freely no matter the consequence; to speak the truth? Do you dress how you want to against social norms. Do you dream of your own world and see it in the real one?

The mirror is a gateway to your life. It shows you exactly who you are. The imperfections, the "perfections". It provides a second conscience. One can certainly add make-up to hide away dreams and fantasies. Or it can create an outlet to who you really are. The one who pushes the limits. The one who isnt afraid to stand out from the norm.

For me, I am one of those who hides behind the mirror. I only show what people need to see but in honesty. I dream of a world were nothing is real. Everything is not what it should be. I want to see what my creative world would be in reality, where people are not restricted to gender roles, or ruled by the stigma of madness.  

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
 That is according to Einstein. So who is to say that someone is insane when they really arent. We all dream every day, every night expecting a different outcome; is that insane? No. It's what life is all about.

What would it be like to live in a world, where no one was deemed mad, insane, or crazy? Were no-one judges you for the weird things you say, do, wear. To live in a world were I am restricted in my ability to dream, to create, to believe is the correct definition of insane.

A Little Revenge

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
William Shakespeare

Today I had the unfortunate experience of being picked up and shoved into a supermarket freezer by my dad. To be fair, I deserved some sort of revenge, just not to that extent. See when me and my dad go anywhere, we act like two little kids. I just happened to lose. 
Now this freezer business was due to the fact I annoyed my dad a little too much. Why he chose the freezers with many people in the aisle, I do not know. I truly had made one little kid's day. 

As for my revenge. I have a plan. I simply shall not revenge. I shall move on and forget. Did I say not revenge? Well I meant just yet.  
After all, there is method in the madness.

Become the Part We Both Love to Hate

 

Me.

I like to be alone.

No one around.

No Sound.

Just me.

I like to be imaginative.

Live in a dream world.

My Own Place.

Just me.

You.

You spoilt this.

You are the man in my nightmares,

You are the haunting.

Just you.

You.

Are the knife in my veins.

The blackness in my soul.

The darkness of my mind.

Just you.

You.

Turn Love to Hate.

Pure to Black.

Life to Death

You.

Cause everything pain.

The evil within a smile.

Cause the innocence grief.

You

And me.

Are different