Importance of a Nightmare

The past two weeks I’ve been having a horrible time sleeping. On the weekends when my girlfriend goes to work earlier than usual, I catch maybe two or three hours. On weekdays I am in bed for hours tossing and turning due to vivid nightmares, horses with human hands, bifurcation, and being the repeated victim of a serial killer are among some of the treats my mind has been graced with this past week. I’ve been racking my mind with reasons as to why I’m having these nightmares, and I’ve come up with every answer under the sun. From me being overwhelmed by my ambition, fighting the desire to chase one passion and one passion alone, to less dream-like feelings like a fear of commitment, and a murderous subconscious impulse that displays hints of sociopathic behavior.

At the same time, I’ve been trying to survive with mantras and well wishes to myself. To repeat uplifting things in my mind to keep me stable even though I feel like my night time is ripping me apart and I can do nothing to stop it.

I’ve been so afraid of sleep that I’ve fought it late into the night and into early morning, praying when I do lay down that I will sleep so hard that I won’t be able to recall the dreams I would have. Most times, it works. Most times, I wake up in the late afternoon with a bitter taste in my mouth and a swelling ball of frustration because I missed hours’ worth of the day, only for the moon to rise and the fear of what is inside my own mind to return.

Even now, as I write this, wide awake at five A.M. my mind is painting sinister pictures of ghouls behind me in my writing desk, horrors of thought that I couldn’t hear if I wanted to because I’ve resorted to blocking out the monstrous feelings with music, turned up loud and disguising anything that I fear behind me.

Who knows? Maybe this blog post will be my last, marking my final worry that something I’ve created and put so much thought into has finally come to life within me and taken me to some dismal backwater and left me there to die.

It won’t happen, but the thought is enough to spurn more nightmares, which I truthfully don’t mind.

See, sleep and I have a pretty complicated relationship.

When I want it, it doesn’t want me, and when I need it, it’s nowhere to be found. Up until I can’t afford time to sleep and suddenly exhaustion crashes down on me like a curtain of hammers, and I fall to a deep sleep wherever I am.

Truth be told, I stress frequently about finding new content to talk about each week, so much so that it wears on me in my sleep, I think. That’s what I wanted to talk about today.

We put too much weight onto ourselves.

Dreams can be disgusting, enlightening and many more things, and the meaning of our dreams only matters as much as the weight we put into them. Perhaps I’m having these dreams because I’m not happy with something in my life and in classic fashion I am refusing to acknowledge it. Perhaps they’re just dreams, and I’ve been thinking too much about the monsters I spent years creating. I don’t often give dreams much credence, to me they are the same as hypnosis or self-help mantras.

The Secret only works if you believe in it, the Four Agreements only align when your mind accepts the philosophy, and your dreams only matter as much as you let them matter. Still, they can be useful for understanding where you are at.

A dream, simply, is the time your mind takes to process your day, to store and catalog information, and in doing so it can be broadcast in a myriad of ways. Namely, for me, those come across as nightmares. Sometimes inspiration, but more often than not, they leave me sweating and clutching my girlfriend in my sleep, still trapped within a nightmare that I can’t escape from until I open my eyes for the day.

Using that information, I can deduce a number of things about myself. I know that because of my creative imagination, I can tend to think things into existence, and those thoughts manifest as horses with human hands, murderers and men in mascot costumes taking pictures of my loved ones, mangled and hung on wires.

I tend not to look into my dreams, in part because I think most of it is hocus pocus, but I think there’s a significant part of me that doesn’t want to understand, because knowing eliminates half the horror, and fear keeps us alive as humans.

I’d love to get some more sleep, but the risk of curing this cursed dream state is too great of a loss for me. That, if anything, shows signs of some kind of anti-normal behavior, I would assume.

Of course, I’m no psychologist.

What are your dreams telling you?

Mine, I think, are telling me that I need more sleep.


 

I didn’t have anything more to say, my exhaustion has sapped a lot of my thought-provoking questions away from me this week. Next week I’ll be back to talk about something more… inspiring.

In the meantime, I’ve begun a serial fiction over on Wattpad if you want to check it out. I’ll be posting teasers for the chapters here every Thursday, don’t miss out on the beginning of something great. ❤

Bad Rituals

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