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*random growl*
Oct. 21st, 2003 12:56 pmAm cranky. I don't seem to be sleeping well these days, even though I haven't got insomnia.
Remembered more of my dreams from last night. It involved me witnessing the murder-suicide of an entire family (they looked a lot like the Adams Family, actually), which they performed on a bridge with a very large butcher's knife. It was in the middle of winter, and we had fled their huge mansion in the forest (which looked a lot like the forest in the Laurentian mountains, so lots of widely-spaced connifers) and ended up on this bridge. The father stabbed himself in the stomach, then the son, who was about eleven or twelve, slit the throats of his mother and sister (the sister was the one who resembled Wednesday Adams the most) and then his own.
I remember trying to get the family's cat and dog to run away, or else they'd be killed too, and I didn't want such a fate to befall them. They were animals, after all, and they had no part in whatever sadistic ritualistic goings-on the family were taking part in.
I don't know why I wasn't afraid for my own life. Maybe I was and I don't remember.
Anyway, the cat and dog didn't obey me. They'd trot away to a place farther down the road and then stay there and wait faithfully for the family to come for them.
The scene shifted then, and I was in university. It didn't look like my university, of course, but I knew I was there. It looked just like any other building in my dreams: extremely high walls, ceilings that were too high to be seen, and staircases that stretched up at almost acute angles.
I was waiting for my friend Kyriakos who was supposed to bring me an i.d. card so I could come and go. He was running late, and I remember that there were a number of people waiting for me and lots of things I had to do. Finally he arrived, but he only had a temporary card with a sticker that I had to apply to it. The sticker was bizarely shaped, and I had to tear it in two to get it to fit in the box provided. We hurried to the office where I was to get a proper i.d., where I had to put the card in a large machine to be processed.
Sadly that part of the dream has gone all hazy now. Don't remember what happened, if anything. I just remember that the corridors were the way they always are in my dreams: very wide, and made of those tiles that look a bit like bricks, with very low ceilings (about eight or nine feet), and every now and then opening up to the sides to accommodate the aforementioned disproportionate staircases, with walls made entirely of glass that stretch so high one can't see the ceiling near the staircases.
[It's hard to describe the stairs. They usually go straight up and down, and they give you vertigo if you stand at the top because they're so steep. They usually get narrower at the top, too, until you almost can't stand on them without falling off. Sometimes they're escalators, but the steps themselves take on an odd quality which makes them feel as though you're trying to step on the upright bristles of a broom —they kind of crumple under your feet and give you the impression that you're about to fall.]
In another dream, I was going back to the town in which I had witnessed the murder in the first dream. Somehow it all made sense: it didn't matter that it had been a deserted bridge. The man who had killed himself and his family was there, and he was running a small café which had become quite successful. Everyone, I somehow knew, was in fact alive and well, even though I only saw him (he looked different in this dream, but I knew it was him). I parked my car not too far from his café and went in to have lunch. He recognised me, and we began catching up because we hadn't seen each other in a long time.
We never mentioned the "incident" even though it hung in the air between us. It was like a shameful secret that neither of us could mention, as though we'd slept with each other when we were drunk one time. That's what it felt like, anyway, not like we were covering up a crime. I knew he'd come a long way in the world, because his café, which was now very trendy and served fancy yuppie food used to be just a coffee shop which served fast food.
I also remember that there were flowers involved at some level: large, brilliantly-coloured flowers. I don't remember why they were there, though. It's just a lingering mental image I have from my dreams. *shrug*
All in all, it was pretty strange.
Another massive panic attack when I woke up this morning. I think they're getting worse. I had another one last night just before leaving for Tai Chi. There's a short-circuit in the light fixture in my stairwell, so it's completely dark in there once the sun goes down, especially the bottom of the stairs which is plunged in inky blackness once it's no longer light out. I stood at the top of the stairs and became completely and irrationally convinced that something terrible (don't ask what, because I don't know) would happen if I went down there.
I don't know how I forced myself to move, but I did, and the feeling passed more or less once I was outside. I don't know what to do about this: I don't want to be afraid to leave my apartment. That would suck. I've heard of that happening to people with extreme anxiety disorders, and I don't want that.
There was no problem when I came home. Apparently the darkness is only scary in one direction. :P
So, yeah. That's it.
Remembered more of my dreams from last night. It involved me witnessing the murder-suicide of an entire family (they looked a lot like the Adams Family, actually), which they performed on a bridge with a very large butcher's knife. It was in the middle of winter, and we had fled their huge mansion in the forest (which looked a lot like the forest in the Laurentian mountains, so lots of widely-spaced connifers) and ended up on this bridge. The father stabbed himself in the stomach, then the son, who was about eleven or twelve, slit the throats of his mother and sister (the sister was the one who resembled Wednesday Adams the most) and then his own.
I remember trying to get the family's cat and dog to run away, or else they'd be killed too, and I didn't want such a fate to befall them. They were animals, after all, and they had no part in whatever sadistic ritualistic goings-on the family were taking part in.
I don't know why I wasn't afraid for my own life. Maybe I was and I don't remember.
Anyway, the cat and dog didn't obey me. They'd trot away to a place farther down the road and then stay there and wait faithfully for the family to come for them.
The scene shifted then, and I was in university. It didn't look like my university, of course, but I knew I was there. It looked just like any other building in my dreams: extremely high walls, ceilings that were too high to be seen, and staircases that stretched up at almost acute angles.
I was waiting for my friend Kyriakos who was supposed to bring me an i.d. card so I could come and go. He was running late, and I remember that there were a number of people waiting for me and lots of things I had to do. Finally he arrived, but he only had a temporary card with a sticker that I had to apply to it. The sticker was bizarely shaped, and I had to tear it in two to get it to fit in the box provided. We hurried to the office where I was to get a proper i.d., where I had to put the card in a large machine to be processed.
Sadly that part of the dream has gone all hazy now. Don't remember what happened, if anything. I just remember that the corridors were the way they always are in my dreams: very wide, and made of those tiles that look a bit like bricks, with very low ceilings (about eight or nine feet), and every now and then opening up to the sides to accommodate the aforementioned disproportionate staircases, with walls made entirely of glass that stretch so high one can't see the ceiling near the staircases.
[It's hard to describe the stairs. They usually go straight up and down, and they give you vertigo if you stand at the top because they're so steep. They usually get narrower at the top, too, until you almost can't stand on them without falling off. Sometimes they're escalators, but the steps themselves take on an odd quality which makes them feel as though you're trying to step on the upright bristles of a broom —they kind of crumple under your feet and give you the impression that you're about to fall.]
In another dream, I was going back to the town in which I had witnessed the murder in the first dream. Somehow it all made sense: it didn't matter that it had been a deserted bridge. The man who had killed himself and his family was there, and he was running a small café which had become quite successful. Everyone, I somehow knew, was in fact alive and well, even though I only saw him (he looked different in this dream, but I knew it was him). I parked my car not too far from his café and went in to have lunch. He recognised me, and we began catching up because we hadn't seen each other in a long time.
We never mentioned the "incident" even though it hung in the air between us. It was like a shameful secret that neither of us could mention, as though we'd slept with each other when we were drunk one time. That's what it felt like, anyway, not like we were covering up a crime. I knew he'd come a long way in the world, because his café, which was now very trendy and served fancy yuppie food used to be just a coffee shop which served fast food.
I also remember that there were flowers involved at some level: large, brilliantly-coloured flowers. I don't remember why they were there, though. It's just a lingering mental image I have from my dreams. *shrug*
All in all, it was pretty strange.
Another massive panic attack when I woke up this morning. I think they're getting worse. I had another one last night just before leaving for Tai Chi. There's a short-circuit in the light fixture in my stairwell, so it's completely dark in there once the sun goes down, especially the bottom of the stairs which is plunged in inky blackness once it's no longer light out. I stood at the top of the stairs and became completely and irrationally convinced that something terrible (don't ask what, because I don't know) would happen if I went down there.
I don't know how I forced myself to move, but I did, and the feeling passed more or less once I was outside. I don't know what to do about this: I don't want to be afraid to leave my apartment. That would suck. I've heard of that happening to people with extreme anxiety disorders, and I don't want that.
There was no problem when I came home. Apparently the darkness is only scary in one direction. :P
So, yeah. That's it.
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