I’ve been quite busy over the last week. My 5 year anniversary is coming up and I’ve been planning gifts and surprises galore. If there’s one day a year where I can truly splash out on gifts for my love it’s our anniversary. I send him chocolate and poetry and take him out for fancy meals and plan romantic, candle lit meals all year round (not just on Valentines day,) and treat him properly. This time of year though, I always make sure to go over the top and buy him something expensive, make him something sentimental, something sweet and plan trips. Last year I took us on a week long holiday to Scotland. This year we’re re-visiting some of the places we loved the most over the 5 years we’ve been together so far. However this means I’ll be gone for a week. This post was drafted in my journal/diary/note book for LARP. To save time (it’s 8 pages) I’m just going to type it as it was written.
Also for some readers you may want to skip over this post due to content. Blood trigger warning etc.
Lend me your pages, because I’ve started a blog and I’m a long way from home.
I need to draft something before I go mad.
So I sit with some brewing Song Yang Jasmine tea, a crochet blanket I started because I’m bored, on a morning that seems never ending. (I might dip back and forth between this and my crochet.) This will be the 3rd time I’ve started this morning, and no I’m not a time traveler. I 1st started this morning at 3:30 am. I woke from rather a disturbed night. I knew however, this time I couldn’t go back to sleep. I’d just had a rather strange nightmare and I’d woke in a cold, panic driven and scared state. Usually I’d wake my lover if I’d had a bad nightmare but he had to get up before sunrise for work, so I didn’t have the heart to. Plus seeing him alive was comfort enough. Yes I dream about my loved ones being brutally murdered a lot. I think it’s due to my mind running out of things to torture me over. However I do have nightmares that scare me because they’re centered on me and my state of mind.
For example: I have nightmares where I’m forced to be female, lobotomized, impregnated, and forced to stay at home. (This is probably why I get depressed when I do the housework.) Many nightmares show me a broken and controlled me, with long hair, giant tits, crying, a child in tow, just staring out at the world as if imprisoned and washing up numbly.
But that’s not what I had a nightmare about this time. Trust me though, it was worse than my raped housewife horrors. I have an image burned into my eye lids of something far worse.
Last night I had a dream that started of quite innocently. Me and my pet were due to attend a family wedding on my paternal side. However isn’t real, in real life that is. We’d been tasked by a businessman to set up something at the wedding and he’d pay off our mortgage. Instead after one social faux par after another, the family turned against us. The bride turned on us and we had to flee. Our car was destroyed, so we got into the back of my mums car instead. We’d just set off when the bride mutated with elongated legs, arms and 30 inch, razor sharp talons for nails. The window on the right of me got blew out and something beside me absorbed a bullet shot by the groom. I don’t know what took the hit, because I was distracted by a scared cry from my pet and I was dragged sideways. I turned to look as fast as I could, but it was useless. My mouth filled with blood that wasn’t my own and my face got covered as well. I threw off my glasses as my mum swerved and throw a bloody and blurry haze, I saw my pet, still cute as ever, but grey with a long slash across his throat. He was dead, I just knew. The car crashed into a low brick wall, but I was still alive. Everyone else was dead but I couldn’t see them. (Not because of sight problems. They just weren’t there anymore.) I cradled my lover’s head, cried and kissed his slit throat as if I could kiss it better and he’d come back to me. I don’t know how long I stayed there and cried. My eyes burned from tears. I couldn’t live without him. Yet through all that sadness, all I felt was the now familiar pang of guilt and shame. I’d failed my pet, again. If I’d turned sooner, if we never went at all, if we’d just stayed in bed… he’d still be warm and alive in my arms. All the ‘ifs’ crashed through my mind with images of us basked in warm and golden sunlight, his smile and the feel of him in my arms.
Until, (and this is where it get’s weird,) I noticed the bride had noticed I was still alive and was murderously, stumbling toward me like a drunken serial killer. I kissed my lover’s forehead one last time and some how and with great ease, broke through the roof of the car. I went through a sort of lycanthropic transformation. I could feel the power in my leg muscles and my torso. Felt the raw power flowing through my jaw as my teeth sharpened, and my vision sharpened. I was consumed by rage. I started to run toward the wretched bride and she fled. I couldn’t catch her, instead I watched her flee as the tattered lace of her wedding dress fell away and she faded into thin air. I then spent days in the dream world tracking her down.I only woke when I saw a report of the accident, (on a small T.V, in a Indian supermarket where the shop owner had gladly given me food because he could tell I was on a quest to avenge a lover…somehow.) the car smashed into the wall and stock photos of the people who’d died. It was only then when I saw the stock photo from my lover’s driving license did I wake up.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m posting a log of my nightmare. Maybe it’s to show that even if I get some much needed sleep, I’m still not safe. Maybe it’s to show another angle of my psyche. Maybe it’s just because sharing everything on here so far has made me feel better. Or maybe it’s because of my nightmares usually have a clear meaning and this one has rattled me to the core and I have no idea why I have dreamt this.
What I do know is, that it is finally classed as afternoon.
I’ll also tell you that my nightmare was so vivid I can tell you that the shop owner’s badge had a name on it. I remember he was called Ahkmil. I don’t even know if that’s a legitimate name of Indian heritage. What’s important is that it was so real to me. I could give you a full description of the guy, including how the guy laughed when a pumpkin seed got stuck in between my feral teeth. It’s haunting how realistic my nightmares are. Even down to the textures I feel in my hands or the wounds I take. There’s nothing fuzzy and dream like about it. If it wasn’t for the fact lycanthropes aren’t real and my family, my lover and my sister’s cat (for some reason,) were there, I’d swear I was experiencing some one else’s life. (I would usually make a joke about Bridezillas here but I’m too tired and haunted.)
I’d like to state before I finish, that I don’t watch scary shows/movies, I don’t even watch murder mysteries any more and I defiantly didn’t eat cheese before bed. I went to sleep gradually last night. I had some ‘dream time’ hot chocolate that has malt in it, snuggled down into a warm comfy bed and was beside my precious lover all night. I don’t have any blood lust, violent tendencies and I’d had a calm and nice day. I guess I just have a naturally over active imagination or something because it takes me days/weeks to shake off nightmares like this.
Often I’m left with images and sensations I can never shake. Like my lover’s throat, the feeling of being chained to a sink whilst washing and crying, the burn as the drugs forced into me destroy who I am and make me female or the look on someone’s face when not only do I choke them out but the feeling of their bones crunching when I break their neck.
All stuff I’ve never experienced in real life and never want too. I’m already haunted by nightmares as it is. I don’t know what this says about me or if anyone is still reading this, at this point. Let it be known if this goes unread until the end of time, I still feel better just posting this. I also, for some strange reason feel part asleep, as if I didn’t fully wake up his morning, when I was drenched in ice-cold sweat and checking my lover’s pulse. It’s a strange feeling when your dreams seem more real than when your awake. Yet I still know which one is real and which is not.