Date: December 11, 2012.
Time: 05:58
My cellphone shows 05:58. I just awoke. I had a very
disturbing dream experience. It vanishes with every moment from my memory so I
have decided to swiftly write it down to the best of my capability. This is by
far, so far, the strangest and the most nightmarish experience I have had; I
still shiver, my spine is freezing, and there is an aura of foreboding in the
air around me, it feels. A feeling that something is not entirely right still;
a nightmarish premonition almost. But it fades more and more with every second
now.
The whole thing started with me taking multiple 25 mg
pills of American over-the-counter sleep aid medication with the dissociative
and highly psychoactive compound diphenhydramine as its active substance. In
this case, “multiple pills” means that I took as many pills you need in order
to feel the dissociative and hallucinogenic properties of the drug. Around
midnight I feel extremely tired and a bit disturbed, so I decide to go to my
bed. When in bed, I yet cannot sleep but I start to ruminate many things, and I
twist and turn there in bed until I, after all, pretty swiftly falls silent,
still and asleep. I am not sure about what the clock says when I finally fell
asleep, but I remember I checked my cellphone a final time just before 1 o’clock.
In any case, when I fall asleep, something strange
starts to happen. I have a dream – a nightmarish one. I stand in the middle of
some sort of derelict playground. Obviously children’s playthings are here, but
they are rusty and they look eerie for some specific reason I though can not
put to words. Beyond the playground, maybe a hundred meters behind it, there is
a farm. A family lives there. It is a troubled family; a father, a mother, some
children and a giant, scary dog. Both parents are morbidly obese to the point
of being disgusting. What is disturbingly eerie about this dream is that it
proceeds in some kind of slow-motion; I can not move properly, or rather, every
movement takes so much longer. I can not run; only walk very slowly. I must drag
myself along, and to speak, and to use my tongue as a carrier for words, that
is a very troublesome and hard thing to do. For some reason, the tongue sticks
in ones throat; the words are formulated but when they slip out, they turn to
indecipherable vociferations of sheer nonsense. And I remember that this
horrible family had me in custody somehow; they, in some sense, were my
superiors or even my own mother and father!
The family carried with them a foul atmosphere. There
was a kind of loathsomeness about them; some oozing evil around them like
clouds of flies buzzing; some fog, some dense spiritual attachment to them I
did not at all like. It felt like they plotted my misery, conspired against me
and wanted bad things to happen to me – especially the father. What a vile
atrocity of a man he was. Surely he scared me profoundly, and his thick, fat
body repulsed me to the core of my belly. And the dream seems to play out over
multiple days. The time seems very drawn out and it feels, when I wake, as if I
have been gone a long time. And fucking hell, just writing this now, as I just
had this experience, is disturbing me. My spine trembles and the thought of
what happened and I feel it still in my chest and in my head as I write this.
In any way – one day in the dream, I found myself
walking down to the beach; the father had apparently decided we should. Because
I am extremely uncomfortable in his presence I decide to walk ahead; I pick up
my tempo and soon I am some meters ahead of him, even though everything runs so
slowly. Time itself has stuck in thick honey! I hear his footsteps, though,
come closer, and his ugly voice also, calling my name. I try to run as much as
I possibly can, but it is rather impossible. Everything is sort of stuck in a
great morass or some mud-flood or a puddle of viscous syrup and resin! When we
have finally reached the beach he starts talking to me. In some diabolical,
nightmarish turn of events he starts fellating himself, still with his
massively fat body. He walks down to the ocean, while treating his own
genitalia with something that looked like a very passionate act of fellatio. He
falls on his back to the water, floats away while still sucking his own penis
in an extremely grotesque and horrifying way I can not at all put to words. It
is an experience no one will understand if not phenomenologically having been
there. I was so afraid and so disrelished by the whole scene; my mind was full
of distaste and strongest aversion for the way this father behaved, and how it
all looked. It was a manifestation, a display of truly nightmarish aesthetics.
I decide to flee. I start running the very fastest I can – I just want to
leave, leave, leave. I seem to awake from the dream as I run from the scene at
the beach.
Now the second phase of the experience starts, and I
soon understand, that the first part was merely a precursor to the real terror.
Very weird things start happening. I
shiver at the merest thought of it. I wake up! I look at my alarm-clock: 06:09,
it shows. I am still very scared. Something is wrong about it all.
I can hear my mother’s voice on the other side my
bedroom door. What is she doing up? I try to look at the time but for some paranormal
reason I cannot understand, I can’t muster to move. A feeling of panic beckons.
I do not know the time but it feels so very strange that she would be awake at
this hour; outside there is darkness and I do not think the world has woken up
yet. But I am very confused – I simply do not know. It scares me, not knowing. I start reminiscing my dream and what I have
been through over the last couple of hours, and I feel a sense of alarm, quite
direly, but I cannot phenomenologically locate my anxieties. It is just wrong, this
whole lot! I feel it in my bones and in my skin that I am still stuck in some
dream-state or something else of that sort. Yet I am in my bed, in my room. And
I can hear my mother outside my bedroom door. I cannot control my limbs the way
a functioning human being should be able to. They are foggy somehow, and
gelatinous, and stuck in some dreary dimension with different rules for time
and space – that’s how it feels like. This is a frightening trepidation I feel,
and I start worrying I have ultimately turned psychotic – possibly from the cocktail
of cannabis and diphenhydramine (“sleep aid”) I have been utilizing with some
regularity. Somehow, I rise from my bed and I go to the kitchen, where
seemingly my mother is. I start talking to her, but she is there and not there
at the same time. It is one of those dream things that are, almost by
definition, inexplicable; unexplainable. What I feel right away is a quite ominous
feeling from her, and I have always attached warm and kind features to her;
this aura she was giving off was something entirely new for her. Everything
happens very weirdly and I struggle to maintain some fragmentary understanding
of my memories from this phase of the experience. It is hard, though, and most
recollections fade away; I cannot remember whether I felt it was my mom there
in the kitchen, or if it was something entirely other, but what I strongly realized
was my ever presence in the dream-state and not in the “real world”. The slow-motion
everything moved in was a harrowing thing for it reminded me of this prison and
it reminded me altogether more that I have no clue how to exit it! I realize
strongly that I have not woken up yet. I am stuck in the limbo, in dream
purgatory. I think I walk around a bit in
our apartment, and I am scared. I remember that, the darker a room got, to the
larger extent I had trouble separating what I felt as “reality” from what I felt
as “dream” or even “wrong”. For example, when I gazed into the living room, I found
myself almost falling asleep standing; the darkness of that room almost seduced
me back to sleep. How many days I have spent in that living room! But this
night, and in this state, it was not our living room. It was a portal to
something I could not understand at all, not even in the slightest. What is
interesting is that I have no idea if I am really walking around in our
apartment at this point, or if everything actually happens in my head. The
thoughts of psychosis are growing strong, the worries are burrowing like worms
into my head.
Suddenly I awake in cold sweat, scared out of my
heart, slowly realizing I can move ordinarily. Everything feels again like “life”
and I succumb to a feeling of great, great relief. I start to smile and even to
laugh at the sheer absurdity of what I have been through.
I slowly realize that this whole ordeal I have
experienced as a nightmare playing itself out over 4, 5, 6 days and nights,
happened in my head somewhere between ca 01:00 and ca 05:50.
