Looking into the Eyes that My Mind Designed

I’m afraid to fall asleep…

 

Do you ever have dreams so viscerally fucked up that

You have to wonder if something is seriously wrong with you and your brain to even have the capability to compose something so disturbing? Are filled with imagery and narratives that are deeply incongruent with the person you know yourself to be, that it makes you wonder who you are to be able to form them so vividly? That you want to give into the pull to drift back to sleep- because you are so exhausted, because it sucked everything from you, because it was anything but restful, because if feels like your body and mind just lost a very drawn-out boxing match.. because you are clinging to hope that if you fell back asleep, you could experience something, anything, better than what you just experienced to write over its imprint on you? But you are too terrified to fall back asleep at the risk of seeing and feeling those things again? That you are tempted to stay up for days or weeks on end if it meant it could take away that ability of this horrible part of yourself, whatever hidden part of yourself that holds the power to make those things come to life in a way that feels as real as conscious sensations to you? That you would rather sleep on the edge of waking, never sleep deeply again, so that you could have better control to escape it? That you are scared and ashamed to speak the details aloud, fearing that it would breathe life into it? That you would bang your head against the wall or bury it if it would make that imagery go away or never have been seen? That you would do anything if it would make the cycling end, the cycling again and again in your now-conscious mind, like a washing machine, trying to cleanse itself away? That you keep waiting for it to fade away like other dreams do, waiting for that release, that grip on your lungs and your pounding heart to end… but it doesn’t? Instead, it slowly eats at you the longer it sits throughout the day unacknowledged. Like a fingernail scratching away at a plaster wall, like a hungry animal forced to start eating itself, like a telltale heart banging from inside a box, buried alive, a victim screaming inside for recognition?

No? Just me?

Because it’s been happening since I came home. And I’d really like to get some sleep…