Spread the Word of Awesome!

I’ve had a week of straight nightmares. Lately they have been streaks of three or four days in a row, but no, not this time. Last night’s set of nightmares had me crying when I woke up about twenty minutes ago, and I feel rather sick to my stomach, but I’ve got one of my rats on my lap to help me. He’s cleaning himself.

So, most of the passed week’s nightmares have been centered around bad dream Mike, you know, the guy who looks like a fatter version of my loving, caring, gentle boyfriend? The one I’ve been trying to kill to keep him from appearing in my dreams again? The one that seems to be able to control what happens to him so that he can’t be killed? Yeah, that one. Well, last night was pretty bad. I don’t remember most details, so I apologize. It doesn’t help that my head is pounding.

There was the usual, which was bad Mike emotionally abusing me, threatening to leave me, flirting with other girls, making me think he’s already left me only to come back minutes later, telling me I’m worthless and annoying… and a leech. This one is the worst because Michael and I have a very snuggly relationship, meaning we are both leeches toward each other, and that’s a good thing. But no, not bad Mike. He needs his space all. Of. The. Time. Probably to fuck my female projections that are way hotter than me.

Naturally, since I’m not on my day medication while asleep, my dream self turns into the worst part of me. This makes my behavior bad, and that makes everything worse, chasing bad Mike away even further. When I’m begging him to come back, he either says, “yeah, I’ll think about it,” or, “maybe, if you can go five minutes without being a whiny bitch,” or just, “nope. I don’t love you anymore.” Sometimes he adds, “I never actually loved you anyway.” Bad Mike acts this way because he’s a combination of all of my bad relationships, mostly Tyler, who did most of this stuff to me. Bad Mike is what I’m afraid the real Mike might turn into, but we’ve been together for over seven years; if he hasn’t turned into this yet, he’s never going to.

Rat status: Tommy just farted. Had to put him back because he started pooping. He doesn’t usually poop out of his cage, but I guess he hadn’t gotten a chance for a morning evacuation.

Of course, during these dreams, I’m trying to beat the shit out of him, but either I can’t catch him, or he’s stronger than me. He actually tried choking me at one point. Multiple times in the dream, I found myself “waking up” in a new scenario, one worse than the previous. Why was bad Mike suddenly a huge chick magnet? And these girls would pretend to be nice to me, but then tried to kill me! I can feel pain in my dreams, and I can’t count how many times I was struck by this metal, curved spike on a string about the size of an eagle talon. They even tried to blow me up with bombs hidden in things I like. They were all like, “here, you can have this!” But I knew something was wrong about it, so I flew away, though this time I could fly because I was part moth… and they continued chasing me, sneering, “what’s wrong? Don’t you want this? We’re just trying to be nice to you!”

Eventually, I was in this circular library that had many stories (floor levels, not books), so, to try and hide, I flew up as far as I could go, though they were close behind. I manages to find my way into this hidden nook that was a miniature replica of the library’s first floor, but it was a non-colored paper sculpture in a style like this:


Though, it wasn’t inside a book, but it was layers upon layers of yellowed paper to create a 3D scene, and there were no words printed on the paper. It was dimly lit, ironically just like that bottom sculpture, which is strange because I only just found it, I’ve never seen it before.

When I landed carefully in the middle of the mini paper library, a tiny paper monk came in through the door. He was only about three inches tall. He told me that I was dreaming, and that, in order to escape the nightmare, I had to wake myself up.

“I know I’m dreaming. But I never know how to wake myself up. Screaming doesn’t work,” I said, bowing to him as though her were a guru… maybe he was.

“You know how to wake yourself up,” he said. “It’s in your head. Just concentrate.” So I closed my eyes, concentrating as hard as I could at the prospect of waking up, and I felt myself suddenly sink, and then shoot awake with a gasp that made me dizzy. I remembered saying, “oh my god, oh my god,” a lot because I was so amazed it had worked, and I had fallen off of my bed. It woke Mike up, and he asked me if I was okay. For some reason, I didn’t tell him the details.

So, I was flying around, not realizing that I was still dreaming even though I was flying and nothing worked right, and I made friends with some ponies. I’ve had dreams like this before, and it’s normal for me to try and hang out with Pinkie Pie, but for some reason, she just goes about her party pony business, hardly acknowledging me. For some reason, Rainbow Dash was missing, and we were all at this weird carnival. I was the only human… slash moth……. so all of the games were run by ponies. I was calling out for Dash and asking everypony if they had seen her, but I wandered onto a go-cart track and ended up getting run over.

Immediately, I woke up in a large, nearly empty house that Mike and I had apparently just bought. It was amazing, but Mike was acting like an asshole. This is where I had to convince myself that I was awake, and this was all normal. But I had a bird and this weird lizard… the lizard was about the size of an adolescent bearded dragon, but it had frills like a Chlamydosaurus kingie (frilled-neck lizard), and was lime green. It had a tiny spike on its nose like a rhino, sharp teeth, and seemed to have no organs, it’s belly slightly translucent and filled with air. You could just… squeeze it like a plastic, hollow toy…

I wanted to introduce it to the bird. Why, I’ve no idea. So I took it out of its cage and held it up to the bird’s cage. The bird was a small blue canary, and didn’t seem to give a shit about the lizard, but the lizard put up its frills, opened its mouth wide, and made this frightening hissing scream that was very loud. Still, the bird didn’t care, but the lizard was freaked out. It kept in that position even when I took it away from the bird, and it kept stabbing me with its horn and biting me. It was really painful, and it caused me to bleed.

Then a bunch of people were trying to kill me again! I thought, “oh shit! I really am still dreaming!” The lizard was really fighting me, so I dropped it, and it ran off. I was back in the library, but the walls were liquid, hands reaching out to choke me. There were children with knives and scissors, trying to stab me, so I flew back up to the nook where the dream guru was. There was a child in there, so I had to hide until he left. After slipping back it, I bowed to the tiny guru.

“It didn’t work, I’m still asleep,” I said, and a tiny praying mantis with a picture of Disney’s Mulan’s head on its face scuttle up to me and started tearing at my hands and fingers. Just for fun, let’s photoshop such a mantis:


Yes, it was on a scrap of paper like that and everything, and the mantis itself was about the size of those little brownish-grey crickets you get at the pet store to feed to your lizard. Anyway…

“You may have to give in to the thing you wish not to experience,” the guru said.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Let them hurt you. Only then will you wake up.”

“But I don’t want them to hurt me… there’s got to be another way. Maybe I just didn’t concentrate hard enough last time…” So I closed my eyes again and did the same thing I did last time, but after this one, I woke up inside a crappy moving truck. I was still part moth, but I hadn’t realized it, even when I flew out and above to see what was going on. I was happy to be awake though! So relieved that the nightmares had stopped!

The moving truck was stopped on the side of a road in the middle of the desert, and Mike was there, along with some projections that appeared to be slightly redneck men. I say slightly because they weren’t very strong stereotypes, sort of like AJ Styles. I flew back down, apparently knowing them, and they had me push this dingy dog house to the back of the top of the truck. It was made out of plywood, had no paint job, and looked as though it wouldn’t stay up in a slight wind. So the men helped me strap it to the back of the truck, and they had me tape a paper cross to the front.

“Church on the go!” I laughed, the others chuckling as well.

“This way, if people ask why we ain’t at church, we just say we got our church right here!” said one of the guys. This was all really offensive, but I think we meant it to be. I went up to Mike to see what he was doing, and I tried to hug him, but he shoved me off and told me to stop being a leech. My heart fell into the pit of my stomach, and all of the men turned to face me. That’s when I said, “no, no, NO! I’m still asleep!” They all became very terrifying and charged at me, but I flew away as fast as I could.

I just ended up in the library again, where everyone was throwing things. Right now, they were throwing large, plastic, multicolored balls that were the size of a soft ball and very hard. I remember what the guru said about letting them hurt me, so I did. I closed my eyes and told myself, “let them hurt you, it’ll wake you up, let them hurt you…” over and over again. The balls collided with my body, and it hurt so bad, I started to get covered in bruises, and then people started stabbing me with ice picks.

Now, the rest of this happened so fast, it was like flipping through channels to find what to watch. I was suddenly in a different area having my nails torn from my fingers, then another area where people were cutting me open, and what looked like the white inside of a lobster coming out instead of organs, then in another, I was getting my limbs broken, and next, my eyes pulled out, then my face torn off, then my head being severed, and finally, I saw myself in third person being dipped into a vat of acid, and then brought back up to see my flesh melting away from my bones like hot wax, though my eyes still remained. All through this “cannel flipping,” I was screaming nonstop, even after the things should have killed me. It was terrifying to see my own skeleton staring and screaming at me while its skin just dripped away.

Then I finally woke up for real, gasping and shaking. I turned over to see Michael still asleep, so I touched his arm to wake him up. I think he could tell by the look on my face that I had had another nightmare, so he snuggled me while I cried. After a few minutes, I told him that he could go back to sleep if he wanted to, but I had to get up or else I might fall asleep again and just have more nightmares.

Rat status: Now I have Sammy on my lap. He’s cleaning himself.

So… yeah… that was my night. I know Michael isn’t like he is in the dream, and it helps to wake up to the real him, but it doesn’t change the fact that the nightmares put a lot of strain on me, causing emotional stress that my brain really doesn’t need more of. But there’s no way to prevent nightmares. Dream catchers are just a placebo, one that doesn’t work on me anymore.

I wonder how long this streak is going to last. It sure has been putting a damper on my mood during the day.


(Sorry for typos, I didn’t proofread this.)


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