The other night I had the worst nightmare I can remember. Scarier than the reoccurring ones from my childhood in which my house was engulfed in flames and all the doors were somehow locked. More frightening than being relentlessly chased by the Sesame Street's Yip Yips while navigating said reoccurring house fires. It even tops the dreams in which I find myself running around an unfamiliar campus, on a time crunch, during finals, to pass a class I was somehow unaware of for an entire semester in order to reclaim my college degree, even though I graduated nearly 7 years ago. I suppose it's helpful to mention that I am an avid and vivid dreamer. The moment my eyes shut my mind runs a muck. It's not uncommon for a dream to start with a talking snail, build up to a boxing match with a certain ex-friend, and end with a decision to either kill my zombie-bitten lover or love him as he is, even after he's turned (which usually means one last hot kiss and then it's bye bye and bang bang before day break). And although the above mentioned recounts probably speak more to my mistrusting and anxiety-ridden temperament than my wild imagination, the point is that unsettling dreams do not freak me out.
It started out so ordinarily, yet something was immediately amiss. I have this dream house, for lack of a better term, which exists solely in - you guessed it - my dreams. It always comes into play at some point in the night no matter what kind of hallucinations my brain decides to spit out. It's old and worn, warm and familiar, but ever so heavy, haunted by the sick and hidden sorrows that lay in the depths of my psyche, hovering in the pink and golden shadows like a sad memory. It's a dark place, but it's a safe place. This was not the house in which I found myself upon waking. This new house was old, stark, not without charm, but entirely void of familiarity. Wooden beams, white walls, mid-century furniture, stained glass windows. If I were awake I'd be swooning, and yet as I looked around my new old home I was beginning to feel uneasy. I felt the urge to leave almost as suddenly as I had found myself in this space to begin with and so I turned to exit. That's when the door slammed shut in my face. I went ice cold and so did the room and that's when I began to scream, only I couldn't. I could feel the strain in my throat, the terror in my soul, the hands pulling at me as I tried to escape, but I didn't make a sound and I realized that no one could hear me. No one could save me. That's when something hit me over the head and knocked me out.
I woke up in my bed, relieved to find it was all a dream. I still felt uneasy and so went in search of anyone to protect me from nothing. I found my parents and my best friend sitting at the kitchen table downstairs. I told them all about my scuffle with the dream ghost and they each vowed to take shifts ever after so that I would never have to be alone again. However, they all needed to go to the store immediately. Without me. And so I found myself alone again, sitting on my bed, in my room, admiring the clean white walls and the dark wooden beams and the sunlight pouring in through colored glass. I was once again filled with cold fear when it finally occurred to me that this was not my room and I was not safe. I wasn't even awake. I jumped from my bed towards the door in an effort to outrun whatever was coming for me, but instead the door slammed shut. I hit the door and then that beautiful hardwood floor.
My eyes shot open. This time I was actually awake. I sat frozen in sweat and attempted to confirm my consciousness, which is hard enough to to do without having just inceptioned yourself. I wrapped myself in covers, logged what I could remember of my dream as proof of my coherence, and allowed the sweet expletives of Stirling Archer to lull me back to sleep. Unfortunately it was all a ruse, because when I opened my eyes again I was right back on the floor, like my waking life was just some cruel commercial break. I looked up and, although I saw nothing, I knew something was coming for me. I screamed. Awesome. I could scream again, and so I did. More shrill or blood-curdling screams had never fallen past my lips, though just like last time, I knew no one could hear me. I picked myself up off the ground and lunged for the door. Something pulled at me, but not before I reached the knob. The nothingness threw me back, which in turn threw the door open, and then I was free. I could hear screaming, but I wasn't sure if it was me or my pursuer as I stumbled over broken floor boards and down a narrow stairway towards the front door. It was already open, ready and waiting for me to escape the clutches of the invisible force at my heels.
Once outside I slammed the door shut, but that wasn't enough. Over and over I slammed the door in anger, open. Slam. In frustration, open. Slam. In hatred, open - and then something caught the other side of that door. I slammed it one last time, good and hard, and I began to sob. The knob broke off in my hand. I stared at it for a moment in confusion. Even in my dream I remember thinking "what the fuck does this mean?" "Who cares. Just run." I threw the knob at the door, turned, and ran, crying and terrified, but curiosity guided my eyes back up to my bedroom window as I passed the old house. A final chill pulsed through me as I saw lace curtains part behind those beautiful windows, as if on their own, but where I thought a ghost might linger a figure instead appeared, all at once glaring and smiling and cold. I kept running as the figure stared me down and I have never felt so much fear as I did in that moment, staring up at myself.
I haven't been able to shake the dream. I've retold it to anyone that will listen. What does it mean? No one can give me a straight answer. Hell, I can't even give me a straight answer. From what I can gather, there are doors opening and closing, a fear of the unknown, a resurgence of self-reliance, and, most confusing, a fear of myself. And so here I am, I'm two weeks into unemployment, trying to unravel a days-old nightmare, like I'm trying to solve a murder mystery. I haven't the faintest idea what to do or what will happen next for me, I have an exorbitant amount of self-confidence tethered to a complete lack of self-assuredness, and an ever-diminishing savings account. I have been given the opportunity to live out the very dreams I have spent 7 years envisioning while folding shirts and counting money and hating customers. I have no idea in which direction I am supposed to head next, but I know it can't be worse than where I've already been. I am terrified, but I am free.
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