Pollyliz
12-28-2007, 07:18 PM
Wow - people here are able to recall such vivid details - I marvel at their memory! My nightmares leave mainly impressions though I can say, without much doubt, that whenever I dream - properly dream - bad things happen. The one I remember most, is the one with the stalker. I'm at a party, with friends, when a man - a stranger - enters and walks up to me. All my friends allow it, like there's nothing unusual. Then when gets to me, he kneels down by the chair I'm sitting in and calmly announces that it's time to cut my hand off.
He's not angry or insane. He may as well be announcing that it's time to cut my hair. He pulls out a blunt instrument from his old-fashioned leather bag, like an old knife or a even a spoon. When I recoil in horror, he's puzzled and then I start to run.
That's most of the dream - the game of cat and mouse. I hop on a bus to get away from him - he's just patiently waiting at the next bus stop. What I notice, most strongly, is that while my friends who I run to for help, are as equally appauled at this pyschopath as I am, whenever there is a knock at their door, they let him right in, lead him right up to me. Everyone around me acts as though having my hand sawn off is an unfortunate but necessary experience. They vow to help me then turn me in, let him in as if it's for my own good.
Eventually. after days of running. I can't run any more and I can't fight any more. When he turns up on the doorstep of another place of refuge, I let him come. And where in some dreams you wake up when the pain comes, in this dream, I stay with it to the end, with every saw of the blade. And I can't decide what frightens me more: the fact that this is happening to me while my friends sit by placidly and watch, or the fact that it's not as bad as I thought it would be.
He's not angry or insane. He may as well be announcing that it's time to cut my hair. He pulls out a blunt instrument from his old-fashioned leather bag, like an old knife or a even a spoon. When I recoil in horror, he's puzzled and then I start to run.
That's most of the dream - the game of cat and mouse. I hop on a bus to get away from him - he's just patiently waiting at the next bus stop. What I notice, most strongly, is that while my friends who I run to for help, are as equally appauled at this pyschopath as I am, whenever there is a knock at their door, they let him right in, lead him right up to me. Everyone around me acts as though having my hand sawn off is an unfortunate but necessary experience. They vow to help me then turn me in, let him in as if it's for my own good.
Eventually. after days of running. I can't run any more and I can't fight any more. When he turns up on the doorstep of another place of refuge, I let him come. And where in some dreams you wake up when the pain comes, in this dream, I stay with it to the end, with every saw of the blade. And I can't decide what frightens me more: the fact that this is happening to me while my friends sit by placidly and watch, or the fact that it's not as bad as I thought it would be.