' Not Entirely Alone '

I never dreamt. Not when I was young, not really. I have memories, of course, but they are all vague. Vague, haunted little memories of when my basement was a secret dungeon or climbing through mountains to dinosaur-shaped cookies (where my dad was happy, and kind, and not a terror in his own right.)

And then they stopped, or at least, my ability to remember them stopped. I remember characters, fragments, of telling people I had a dream but not the contents. The things from this time are wonderful, mostly. Being in my favourite TV show. Riding to an amusement park on a paragliding chair.

For a long while, they were gone. But now… they’re back.

The dreams I have now are not kind, not in the slightest. There was a specific dream, I remember it so vividly, that marks the start of this descent. I was training to be a spaceship pilot. It was fun, at least, until the school alarms rang and me and my friends were rushed onto a field far from the school. We sat in anxious huddles as teachers set up towering speakers. They connected to some foreign network and a voice, crackling and stating and threatening, started to speak. It’s words were alien, no true translation, but I understood them. The countries of the world declared war on the United States, and to start this declaration, they would bomb every single school.

It is a terrible thing. And there were others, bad in their own right, until another dream even worse wipes them from my memory. This time, there was no happy start. We were at nuclear war, missiles to land in six months time. To survive, my family got tickets to the singular spaceship leaving Earth forever. Governed by the US president, except we wouldn’t be on US soil anymore, so he could do what he liked. I watched the launch date creep up, until some emergency made it so we had to leave tomorrow. I saw my friends for the last time, people who’s parents didn’t believe in the missiles and thought they’d be okay. I’d never see them again. And anything I didn’t pack, forgotten at my moms house because we weren’t supposed to leave yet, well. It would be gone. This was a horror unlike anything new. And I woke up, and I went through my day although it was fine. But it isn’t fine.

Because even though last night’s was not bad, not really. A sea monster determined to eat you and your friend, unless you can convince it otherwise through a tea party, baking banana bread and making lattes so perfect you must still survive, seems like a joke next to the things I’ve witnessed in my sleep. But it is still scary. It is threatening, and hostile.

My life in reality is not the best. I struggle with anxiety, and bouts of depression, and my relationship with my father can be described as ‘strained’ at best, and ‘abusive’ at worst. This impacts my sister, and my mom, and almost every aspect of my life. Sleep was an escape. I would sleep for more than any person should— 14 hours, every night, for years. I had a medical condition causing me to sleep more, but even then, even on medication, I could always sleep. It was safe.

It no longer is.

Because even when I did not have a true nightmare for nearly a week, it could happen. Could. That potential is just as terrifying. I listened as someone told me I was going to die soon. I saw my friends eyes for the last time, saw my planet for the last time. I looked to a future ruled by one of the worst politicians, one where he was unchecked. And I don’t know what else is in my brain. I don’t know what other horrors I can concoct, but I know there are more.

This is not the end.

I have two friends on artfight where it’s their first year. They have no attacks. One has attacked two people, one hasn’t finished any yet. They have super awesome characters and art. I want YOU to go attack them!

don’t mention that you’ve been sent my someone. don’t mention how you found them. Just go get ‘em!

ArtFIGHT.net/~camjansen (Mystery, made no attacks)