Remembering dreams: not always great

I woke from a nightmare.

I was in my childhood home. In it, there was a man who lived with his parents. He was both me and not me. Like I was riding in his head and knew what he was going to say but I couldn’t make any decisions.
He lived in the house and it was just him living his life. The whole time there was a vague unease. Like everything and everyone was subtley off. It seemed that this man’s parents flinched from him. Everyone he met seemed to interact kindly to him but all with a vague air of fear almost. And I feel it too. This vague pressing sense of dread fills every action, look or words.

He took his parents out for a drive. And he told them he wanted to show them a house he was going to buy. The father was in real estate and he knew there were no houses in the area up for sale and their fear ratcheted up. He told them not to worry, that he knows of a house about to be available.

He turns a corner in a street in my childhood neighborhood. And points out a large grey house. 2 stories with a covered carport. There are a couple of cars out front and a woman gets out of one. She is crying and has a bundle of red roses in her hand.
Someone from the house meets her on the driveway and they hold each other and cry. There are no ‘for sale’ signs on the house or any indication that it is or will be up for sale. It hits me and the parents at the same time. The only way to know that this house will be for sale soon is to arrange it. This guy who is me and not me has killed whomever is in the house. I’m shocked and incredulous. The parents are scared and less shocked. More resigned. Like this was something that they were hoping wouldn’t happen Again. Like they have been living with this secret monster for years. They drive home.

Then there is one of those jump cuts and the man who is me and not me is talking to someone on his porch. The parents are there but they seem like caricatures. I am no longer in the guys head. I’m watching in the third person and also feel trapped.
The guy who looks like me invites the guy in. He feeds him and paralyzes him. Informing him that his meal was his last guest and did he enjoy it. The parents seem to waver then like they aren’t there. Like I’m in this me/not me’s mind and he sees the parents but they aren’t really there.

He invites in people and kills over and over again. And I’m trapped watching him. I can’t wake up. One of his victims gets away. I, somehow, am then seeing through the victims eyes. I nudge the person to certain places in the house. Places he can barricade. Me/not me hunts him. And victim/me starts to panic. We close a door but it won’t latch and we put a small metal step ladder in front of a door, under the handle but the serial killer hits the door in such a way that it pops it open. We slam the door shut on his hand and he howls in agony. The victim opens the door and pulls the killer halfway in. He pounds the killers skull in with the door pinching the skull like semi hard candy until a part of it breaks away and there is a little boy version of me/not me. There is also a apparition of this person’s mother who talks to the boy. Telling him what to do.

I/victim run and we get away. As we run I, but not the victim, hear the ghost mother telling the boy to eat up. That he needs to heal and eating this brain (his adult brain) will heal him. Like he’s some kind of immortal monster trapped in some pocket dimension reliving his life and death over and over again.

The victim gets far enough away and I wake. Heart pounding. Full blown panic attack. From a nightmare.

How oblivion plays, Extended

Sometimes everything I’ve ever lost comes crashing down and I’m left with this hard physical pain in my heart. It’s not a heart attack. My heart is literally breaking. I wake up from a dead sleep crying with this overwhelming feeling that someone I love is gone and I frantically check to make sure that they are alive and then I realize that it’s her. Morgan. My Morrigan. She’s who is gone. It’s like losing her all over again, but there’s a calming effect too. One that I think I should feel guilty about but only because I don’t. Because, if the feeling is my Morgan being dead, that means it’s not some awful premonition of someone I love, who was just alive, now being dead.

It’s possible it’s an anxiety attack. I tend to only get them when I sleep. The trigger is generally some feeling I’ve been dealing with in the waking world come spilling out past all my defenses.

This happens all the time. I get to the point where I find hope to be pointless. Something gives me my hope back only to shortly thereafter crush it like a bug on a windshield. Like the universe is one massive simulation and I drew the short straw. I don’t know why the moment that I am free and happy something beautiful happens, something beautiful that always falters and leaves me broken in its wake.

I heal faster these days. I learn. I progress. But, I still wish someone would stay. Would embrace me as I embrace them.

Pointless musing on a midnight clear

So much seems to hinge on circumstance. The turn of a phrase or an action. A misplaced step or a perfectly balanced step. More and more I see the limits of what may be possible as the disadvantage of not being impulsive or not being secure enough financially to take an action or not have enough faith in my abilities to land on my feet. Because, if I did, I would have flown to her when she got hurt. It might not have made a difference but we would know.

Or I would have moved to Texas where, it seems, there is a nexus of my tribe. And that could be a miracle or a folly. But I can’t know at this distance.

Or maybe that’s all delusion and I’m just wonderful words on a screen and in person it would be disaster. But I don’t know, because I can’t think to take any kind of step to bring me to them. Is it prudence or cowardice? Am I so bound in secondary rules that I can’t even go without a strong reason or a invitation?

Or are they just dreams that on seeing we’d all wake up from. I wish I could tell you.

Am I high maintenance?

I am tough to be in a romantic relationship with, I think. If I know where I stand, have affection from my partner, and we have communication every day then I’m OK. Probably even good. On some days great.

But if I don’t know where I stand, then I’m always seeking information to get to that information. Which means weird questions and anxiety.

If we don’t communicate every day for more than a single exchange, I begin to accrue anxiety and eventually spiral into a full blown spinout and possible depression.

Cold language or cold treatment can seem to be lack of affection. And it almost always means there is a problem. Maybe not with the relationship but with life or whatever.
This leads me to believe that I am not trusted. And cue eventual anxiety and depression.

I feel like this makes me high maintenance. Or be perceived as high maintenance.

Anxiety and depression reactions are not ideal consequences but they are things that can be alleviated by my partner just being there. In that state I don’t need solutions, I just need presence.

Those things seem like things things anyone would want?
Am I asking for too much?
Those seem like normal things to want.

Another bullshit breakdown

All I have right now is this violent dark soul sucking need to connect

To be seen, to be known
And I could go out and spread my bleak nihilism
Drown in physical desires
Give in
And wake empty

Each night more empty than the last
Each touch just a step away from oblivion
But it’s not what I want
Is it

I want that lasting connection
These touch memories linger with me forever
Burning my mind and fill me with yearning
They seem to be so vital
But the night ends
And what is left but the annihilation of self
In the persuit of nothing

I’m tired of fighting for substance and coming up short
I’m tired of finding people who are vital and pushing them away with the raw need that pours out

Don’t try so hard, be yourself. Which fucking one? I’m only comfortable when I know chapter and verse, when I know specifically where we stand and how likely something more, always more, is. Do I just accept that it’s zero?

As fear and anxiety eat away at my calm, as the reality of being alone sets fucking in. Don’t be desperate. I’m fucking drowning, how the fuck else am I supposed to to feel?

Be yourself? My self is a fucking high strung artist who fucked up his past, and doesn’t see a clear way to a viable future. That’s fucking sexy that is.

And truth, just be honest. What percent honest can you fucking handle? Cause no one wants a hundred percent.

Fuck, fuck! FUCK!

I’m just screaming into the void and hoping it matters

Nightmares

When the nightmares begin
I’m your one and only sin
Dream with me, I’m all in

Love is not for the faint of heart
I tell you this from the start
It’s so hard we often fall apart

But I tell you that when the nightmares begin
I’m your one and only sin
Dream with me, I’m all in

I’m not walking away
I’ll be here till my dying day
I’ll be the one who stays

And when the nightmares begin
I’m your one and only sin
Dream with me, I’m all in

Dream with me, I’m all in

Anxiety in the time of seeking

I didn’t used to be this person. This person who has this anxiety everytime someone I love even the littlest bit draws away from me. Rationally, they have valid logical and emotional reasons. I understand them and accept them. But it still leaves me with this crushing sense of failure and fear. This thought that I could have said something or did something and that would have made the difference. The thought that I held something back or said too much and that’s why it was so easy(in my mind) for them to walk away. I keep trying and failing and trying and failing. And even when it’s not over, just in a holding pattern, there is this crushed heart feeling. This immense weight and pain that just goes on and on. It gets better. It goes away. Usually just in time for another relationship to start.

The pain is mostly my fault. I fall in love so easily. I see some shining beautiful piece of personality and I fall a little bit. Like holding on to a rope and slipping a bit down it. Scary and exhilarating. And we start the dance and I fall deeper and deeper until, when it ends, I am so deep in, I cannot see the night sky.

Further down the rabbit hole

Anxiety weaves about
Circles
Wheels
Revealing weakness

Weakness I’d rather you not deal with
You’ve seen it before
But this feels different

Or I’m jumping at shadows
Is it insight or fear
I don’t know which

All I know is everything stops spinning
When you say Sir

Others have said it
And it was nice

But they are playing
You say it differently
And that makes all the difference