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.
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