I promised myself I would be diligent in filling out these dream journal posts, good or bad… I never really looked on the contract, where it says “and the ugly,”but this dream really qualifies under that category.
Here goes. Keep a watch for my side notes in parentheses for continued reasons why I’m still sane and why nobody needs to call social services on me.
It started off with a dream about me at work, and being incredibly pissed about the fact that Britney Spears came in, ordered a coffee with soymilk, watched some weird spongy foam grow at the top, and dumped out the coffee over a table of books.
I had busted through the doors to the back kitchen, ready to spew some hatred, but then suddenly, I’m in an outdoor class of some sort? With four other people, and we’re discussing something, I forget what, but it involved slowly rolling a ball down a giant representation of a chart, from some point on the x-axis to see where it landed on the y-axis, with each point on that notched off with some words, again, I can’t remember what.
I suggest that we take a quick nap in the grass. No sooner do we close our eyes, but a soft rain starts to fall. We get up and we laugh. I turn to go back inside.
It is what I assume to be getting ready to be prom time back at my high school, and my ‘close circle of friends,’ mostly girls who tolerated me and my weirdness enough to let me hang around them, are having a sleepover. I am not thinking too hard at this point about why they’re ignoring or at the very worst, simply not talking to me.
A weird mental flashcut to seeing a body in a tub with a lot of people running in and out of the room. It looks like an old building.
Now we’re at some sort of gathering, with a lot of people I remember from school. They’re having shrimp–really, really tough shrimp by the looks of it, and dousing it in cocktail sauce. I try to eat some, but I keep seeing that I’m not grabbing any.
The flashcuts starts getting worse and more frequent. I can see the blue on the lips, the rigidness of the skin.
I grab my phone because I’m starting to feel uneasy and… the phone is wiped clean. All my phone records are gone. And I don’t remember any of the phone numbers except of course for my family. I dial them, but either I get no answer or the phones are disconnected because —
The flashcut changes between the prom dinner and the present time rapidly, where there are teachers there as well, dining with the kids. I’m confused and scared and I’m talking and nobody’s acknowledging me.
Flashcut back to the body… where I finally realize, it’s me laying in that tub, dead. Bed sheets attached around my neck, and a tiny portion knotted around the shower rod, severed away where I suppose I was cut down.
Now I’m in panic mode–no, this can’t be me, this shouldn’t be me? Why is this me? I try kneeling down to the body of myself and I slap the cheeks, I shake the shoulders. I can touch the body, whereas I couldn’t even touch shrimp a few minutes ago. The body is cold and rigid.
Now I’m filled with even more panic, because I don’t know why I did this to myself. I think to myself, if I sit down in the middle of the room and say “I want to live! I want to live!” I’ll snap out of whatever horrible dream this is (at least I was cognizant I was in a dream!) then I’ll be back to normal. I do that; nothing happens.
I panic for my grandmother. My sweet, loving grandmother who was my rock during the hard times. Where is she? The dinner guests don’t mention her, and the phone is off the hook or whatever, so I go in search of her.
It’s dark outside and really windy. There’s an obvious storm brewing, but I walk the whole way from school to our old farmhouse (second appearance of the farmhouse since i started the dream journal), which is about 10 miles, and I note that I am not tired. I guess I’m still not aware I’m a ghost at this point…
Going down the deep hill to the farmhouse, I pass two creepy guys sitting outside of an AT&T truck, asking if they think my mom is happy with her telephone service. (Beats me.)
My mom comes out onto the porch of our farmhouse as the wind starts to kick up more. She has two of her dogs on a leash with her, and as soon as I get close enough to them, they start to bark like crazy. I’m yelling for my mom, over and over. The wind is blowing her hair back, and I see that she has those classic “blind glasses” on. She’s blind? Why? for how long?
“Chase?” She’s calling out into the wind. “Yes, mom, I’m right here! I’m right here!” I’m starting to cry at this point. “Can you hear me? I’m here!” I hold out my arms and try to hug her, but I can’t touch her. It’s like a forcefield–I can’t touch her to within a fraction of an inch. My hand just bounces back.
“I know you’re here,” she yells out. The wind is getting terrific at this point. “I know you’re here with me,” she says. “It’s all right, baby, I know you’re here.” (I don’t think she ever really comforted me in such a way in my life.) I try to talk to her, but she just keeps saying the same thing over again, before shushing her dogs–they’ve been jumping around wildly this whole time–and stumbling back inside. I try to follow her inside… but again, I get so close to touching the door handle and I’m bounced back.
I realize at this point that I’ve been dead for a few years. My grandmother apparently died–I dreadfully assume she’s the one who found me (though I’m never confirmed about this–nor do I know anything about the building or room I hung myself it). The dinner party guests were all those at school who actually liked me, and had gotten together to reminisce and talk about me. They mention how horrible it was for me to have killed myself, and the note I apparently left saying something about not having been asked to prom.
That’s when I wake up. For real. Crying.
(And seriously. PROM?! I never gave a flying fuck about prom then, and I certainly have no regrets about not going to prom now. So why was that what supposedly put me over the top? Why is that the reason I would have (I have no reasons!) for killing myself?)
Okay, everyone, whoever reads this. This is not a cry for help. This is not me saying I’m contemplating suicide. I AM NOT contemplating suicide. I am, however, incredibly disturbed that I would have a dream like this. I woke up cold, clammy, and almost started crying as soon as I woke up. It is now almost 9 am and I still need a few hours’ sleep before my long shift at work today.
For god’s sakes now, can I dream about just being with Tyler?