But the kind where I have horribly realistic nightmares of demons and grotesque monsters and deformed rappers chasing me through Silent Hill, possessing me, and dropping me off of cliffs without a parachute. I've had this syndrome since childhood; if you know anything about my childhood, you won't be surprised.
I don't know if other people are able to do this, but I talk to myself in my dreams (which sounds about right since I talk to myself when I'm awake. Go figure.) so whenever a dream gets particularly unbearable, I speak to myself -- in third person, no less -- and say "Ok, that's enough. It's time to stop this dream." or "Ok, it's time to wake up. I'm not ready for how this dream ends." out loud to whomever represents me in the dream, and I'll wake myself right up.
This wasn't always the case. There was a time when I was just a helpless victim of my subconscious' imagination, dragged like a dirty rag doll through whatever terrible backdrop was the scene of choice for the evening, wherever my dreams took me. It took one too many times of me waking up on the floor, or punching and clawing at someone next to me, or waking up screaming and crying in a hot cold sweat for me to try my hand at mastering my entry and exit of said dreams. Most of my dreams are REALLY realistic and representative, as dreams tend to be. Whenever I'm angry, my violence of choice is arson so, alot of times, I dream of setting people or buildings on fire when they've made me upset in real life. Or if there's something I'm particularly stressed or anxious about, it usually shows up in a dream with fire. I once dreamed that I drove my ex-girlfriend to my late grandmother's home, built a 100' high fort of throw pillows, trapped her inside the fort, and set it on fire in the front yard. As I stood watching it burn as she screamed, the bottom of the fort became a winding staircase; as she tried to escape down the steps, snakes struck out from the darkness behind each step and bit chunks of her remaining flesh off. That dream actually gets worse, but you get the picture. I think.
Before I had the ability to awaken myself, I made a habit of staying up as late as possible so I could avoid dreaming and the ensuing terror that I knew would follow. I never knew if that night's dream would be something I could sleep through, or I drank soda and coffee and energy drinks, I took pills (OTC, thank you very much), and would leave the TV or music up really loud. Inevitably, I would fall asleep anyway and the cycle would continue.
The problem was that I did it for so long that, once I was able to control my sleeping and dreaming, I actually wanted to go to sleep. But...I couldn't. There was a time when you couldn't pay me to lie down and go to sleep; I would finally just pass out whenever my body gave up being awake, usually somewhere around 4am. Even if I fell asleep around a decent hour, I woke up at 3:14 every morning like clockwork, and couldn't get back to sleep. The following day, somebody's ass would get cussed out, if they said 'Good morning', 'wyd', or just off GP. I was exhausted.
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| Huh? What'd you say? I'm listening. |
More than anything else, I'm terrified that I'll become like my father and fall victim to late night infomercials. Lemme just tell you that no one, and I DO mean NO ONE has more useless Home Shopping Network shit stuffed under their kitchen table and into crevices in their garage than my dad. Before HSN, there was the satanic Fingerhut catalog. But when he began working nights, then was suddenly transferred back to working days...hunny! Plenty nights I went downstairs as a child to find him sitting Indian-style at the foot of the bed, eyes glazed over, lips parted as he spoke quietly into our house phone, credit card firmly in hand. *smh*
And infomercials these days are so...FANCY...the marketing is SO tricky, it's almost sinful not to buy AT LEAST one thing. They make you feel like your life is a sham if you're caught living without WEN hair products or drinking Nopalea. Or maybe you're the scandalous nipple-flasher who missed the infomercial about the product that saves A-cuppers from embarrassing ugly-nude-bra sightings under wrap dresses.
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| She knows she knew that dress was hangin' off like chicken skin, damned nipple-flasher! |
#iRefuse
The devil is a LIE!! I WILL get to sleep, and if I can't, I WILL leave the TV on Oxygen or Vh-1 Classic!
