Something Stranger

Hello anonymous. I’m not sure when this message reached me. Recently, I have been having nightmares. Yet, I believe my conscious self may be creating the nightmares.

When I was much younger, I welcomed dreams, both the bright and the harrowing. I faced them head on and I immersed myself in each and every one of them, despite finding myself more and more aware that I was dreaming.

There was a time in my life that I wished no more than to be fully aware of my ability to dream lucidly. I knew I could fly, read people’s minds, and change settings at a snap of a finger. Still, there was so much to do and so much to learn. Occasionally, the paralysis would kick in, but it did not deter me. The loop dreams would haunt me in and out of sleep, yet I continued to pursue to dream every night.

Now, the second I realize I am dreaming, I try and kick myself out of it. It’s the worst thing one could do with dreams. Reality and fantasy would be a blur. Your mind wishes nothing but normality, and while dreaming, it would try and give it to you. For a while, you’d believe that you are back to normal until, slowly, you’d notice how your feet drag at every step, how your head sways slowly left and right and it is never bright. It’s always a haze and there’s no one around. You yell someone’s name and you don’t hear your own voice. You’re lucky if no one heard it, because if somebody did, they often would not be so welcoming.

Once you are fully aware that you are, still, in fact, dreaming... you try again. Your brain resets and slowly provides another tour for the most confusing night of your life. And you wake up, only an hour or two since you’ve truly slept, drained to the core.

There’s just no sleeping again until the wee hours of the morning.

Once the snow melted, they had collected enough evidence and found their suspect guilty; they were ready to pass the sentence.

I assumed they would not stoop this low. Nobody deserved to be tortured or intimidated. Exacting revenge was cheap and, with this sort of problem, it would show exactly who lost -- the one plotting to waterboard someone.

The suspect did not deserve it only because it’s inhumane, but also, because he isn’t worth it. Resources spent on such revenge would be far more valuable than his time. 

I thought, I needed to renew myself. I needed to make choices that are against all my instincts and provide a new perspective.

It has all gone to shit.

Yet, in all of its mess, I was able to take a step back from my old self and perhaps take a peek at how others saw me.

It’s now a matter of time if I should go back, or venture toward something else or continue into this path which I know is destructive.

----

This week, I had two dreams that felt quite similar: I was being sexually harassed.

Dream 1: The Walk Home

My vision was dark and blurry. I could not see. A co-worker, who is gay in real life, decided to help me find my way home. I could not open my eyes at one point. It felt exactly like when you see sunlight for the first time in days. Instinctively, my eyes just shut and opening them was a tad painful. 

I could only faintly see the cement and both our feet shuffling towards what I thought was home. Before reaching the place, it started to rain. He took his jacket off and covered both our heads. Naturally I moved in closer to him so the jacket would both cover us.

At this point, he leaned in and expressed his desire for me. I backed off, but with the jacket over my head, he was able to pull me in. He buried his face on my neck. I could hear his heavy breaths as well as unintelligible murmurs. I still remember his facial expression when he held me in place and looked at me. I felt absolute disgust. I was pushing him hard at this point and using my legs to jump and just shake him off. He whispered “kiss me” plenty of times before kissing my neck. I kneed him hard.  He curled in pain and let go of jacket. Running away was extremely difficult. My legs were heavy and turning felt like forever; but I managed.

Remember, I still had very little vision. I was able to get inside a house. I remember its dark brown doors similar to mine. Yet as my vision slowly returned, everything looked unfamiliar. The living room was too small and the furniture was completely different. It was not my home; It was my co-worker’s. I bolted to the the door and twisted the know to no avail. It was locked. The door would not budge. I could sense his presence in his room and there was nothing I could do but scream.

The last time I had a lucid dream was a while ago, and so, it was a rather comforting experience to realize it was all a dream. Still, I had to wake myself up and that is hell in itself.

I woke up before he could attack me again.

---

Dream 2: 

This one is a bit difficult to write as there is no linear story. It all began at work, where I got into a van with 10 or more people inside, both students and teachers. We were on our way to school on a gloomy day. Everyone was either wearing dark or gray/blue gray colors. A new student whose white thinning hair indicated old age, grabbed a female co-worker hard by the arm as they both entered the car. I had no idea why. Usually, in dreams, I’m pretty aware of my surroundings, including other people’s intentions. This one was different. My female co-worker did not fight as well. She simply winced in pain and like a rag doll, leaned against the window as the old geezer let go. It was an odd scene. A couple of other co-wokers asked her how she was and she simply sat up properly, without saying a word.

When we got to school, during a lesson, my student was asking too many questions. He then proceeded to leave and filed a complaint against me with HR. As soon as I got up, a bunch of people came in the room. It was all a prank! The school took part in a TV show somehow and they were now showing me a slideshow of what happened that day, etc. I had no feelings about it whatsoever. I did not in any way felt afraid when my student was being a dick nor relieved to know it was a prank. I was still processing what the hell was happening to the whole school.

I left the room while the group was just halfway through the slideshow. No one noticed. The next scene led me to the teacher’s area, which was very different from the real-life teacher’s area. This one had higher ceilings, higher shelves and bigger windows. Light came in like friend and I finally relaxed. Several teachers were in the room. Looking for something (I don’t know what), I took an unsturdy chair and used it to get to the higher shelves. One of the marketing desk officers saw me and decided to help. He climbed up the same wobbly chair with me still standing on it and rummaged into the top shelf which I could not reach still, despite the chair.

We stayed there forever, rummaging through tapes and files and as the chair shifts one way or the other we’re both forced to lean on each other for support. I hate to admit it, but I liked it. It was obvious that he does as well. We continued to talk about nonsense, one of them being the tapes that were rarely used for teaching. I felt that he shifted his weight on purpose so the chair would wobble and I had to almost hug him. He grabbed my waist so he also wouldn’t fall over. My face was on his chest at this point and his warmth was absolutely welcoming. I stayed there for a bit before letting go and going back to looking for something I did not know.

This was where shit started to happen. He never let go of my waist with his left hand, as he is on my right. But he then used his free hand to touch my stomach and moved it up until he cupped my right breast. I immediately slapped his hand off and stepped off the chair. None of the teachers in the area noticed, thank God. I sat as far away from him as possible. However, with a sly smile on his face he would follow me everywhere and whenever no one is looking he would try and grab my waist again. It happened a few times until I snapped and I told him that if he tried to touch me again I would scream my head off. He only scoffed but didn’t try anything after that. He did not stop following me however and it made me extremely uncomfortable.

This dream felt like a movie. There was a beginning, a middle and an end, along with some subplots.

There are basically two worlds: the past and the present. They can both be visited without the use of time travel. These two realities are only separated by a large gap, similar to a crack in the land or a mini Canyon. The gap is roughly as wide as an Olympic pool. It is filled with fog. No one knows how deep it is.

In both realities, just a few meters before reaching the gap, were black iron gates. Gates which aren’t locked. Anyone can go and try to pass the gap. However, there is no way to do it, except to jump. And not many people can.

I am one of the exceptions. I could jump back and forth without a problem. Although, from where I’m from (present), no one ever tries to go back to the past. Most people in the present are either too occupied or led to believe that the past isn’t as good as the present, which is true in a way.

The past world roughly takes place in the 50s. There are no complex technologies at that place and people were pretty much living simple lives. Because of the lack of better and faster transportation industry, most people are unaware of the gap. There are, however, stories or what most would consider, a folklore. This talks about the gap and how it is the edge of the world and how one will find nothing if anyone jumps over the gap.

And so, I venture in and out of the past with very little consequence as they are unaware of where I’m from. Until one day-- I don’t remember much at this point--all I know is that two little kids followed me with the intention of harming every fiber of my being. They were around 10 and 5, a girl and a boy respectively.

The only logical thing to do was to go back to the present and jump the gap. I did so with no problems whatsoever. I cannot say the same about the two kids. They jumped and failed. The boy especially. With those tiny feet, there’s no way he could do it.

This is where I saw for the first time what happens when people could not jump through the cracks. First, they float. It’s as if there’s something around their waist that’s helping them float. A few seconds later, tiny green lights surround them. Lastly, a bright red light shines below and they are quickly sucked in... never to be seen again.

What happens when someone from the past successfully jumps over the gap? The present helps them transition. They sign on a ledger, and they get their pictures taken. They are registered as a citizen of the present and they are taken to a place where they will be trained and educated so they can survive in the present. Most don’t ever come back to the past, although they are free to do so.

After what felt like days, more and more people from the past could jump through, and the present is always more than welcome to accept them.

I can’t breathe normally due to my asthma and perennial allergic rhinitis. I can’t see normally due to my nearsightedness and astigmatism.

I can’t fall in love. My whole being rejects the idea. Believe me, I’ve tried. 

I’ve been trying.

I’m trying.

I have to claw my way in.

Please, let me be halfway there.

Would it be like this forever?

Would I always have to constantly fight my way through my instincts?

There’s no way I can do that.

There’s no way.

Then why am I fighting?

Am I simply succumbing to expectations?

Would I be happy without it?

Am I happy with it?

I don’t know what it is about sunlight creeping in through windows or cracks. But I am enamored by it.

We rarely talk but it was never quiet. 

He would play the piano in the morning, softly or passionately. The pan would often sizzle and the kettle would whistle, for our french bread and tea. And often the rustling of pages would fill the room. When music, food and books had bored him, the loudest of all would come.

He would stare at me. Although most would say they feel someone stare, I hear it. I hear my own heartbeat quicken and my breathing, erratic. I meet his gaze and he would sit or lie down beside me. I usually comment on the weather and he would complain about it. We’d feed on each other’s warmth and we would sleep, because we never get any. And when we wake we’d do the same thing again, sometimes slightly different than the other.

“Where the fuck have you been?” My hands trembled, reaching the car door. The frozen handle rattled from my cold, numb hands and I kicked the door hard. He hurriedly leaned over and opened the door for me.

“Sorry.” He avoided my glare as he amped up the heater. “There was a surprise checkpoint 2 miles from here. They had me pulled over and-”

I only sighed loud enough to signal that I didn’t care. He got the hint and remained quite for the rest of the trip. I felt cheated - not by my friend, but by my body. I saw skeletal trees above and gray clouds like foggy windows; below, carpets of gold, crimson, and rust. Misty hills surrounded the forest far north. Moor and glen shone peacefully under faltering light. Autumn was mesmerizing. All however go unnoticed as Autumn’s harsh breath reached me. How can a single sense seize the rest?

I don’t know what my friends are up to anymore. I don’t know what they like. What they don’t like. I rarely talk to them and vice versa. The only difference is that they have other friends and because of my anxiety I have none.

Hello again. My trusted friend. The feeling may be one-sided. For sure, our conversation is. It’s up to you whether or not you want to chip in and share a few thoughts with me. My message board is always open.

As you can see, I arrived home safely from the doctor’s. I’m not sure if they even are doctors. Their methods were, shall we say, post-modern. The only thing medical about it are the wires on my head to collect electrical impulses. Blah. I do not wish to bore you with the details. The weird part is that they kept showing me pictures. First: of places. They showed me 8 continents and asked me to choose 1. Then they showed me countries of the continent, around 20 of them and asked me to choose 1 from that and so on. No explanations needed. Just pick and stare for about 10 seconds. I ended up in Florence, Italy. They started showing me google street view pictures of the place. Yeah, by this time I’m just what-the-fucking my way through it. I’m pretty sure they see my stressed out brain on those monitors in front of them.

Things were pretty mellow until I saw a tire swing on a street somewhere. Perhaps it’s because of the stress, but I just started tearing up. They made me stare at it longer than usual and I balled my eyes out. The picture was upsetting me. I took all those wires out and demanded I go home.

Calmed down. Had some water. That was the session. I was free to go home. They told me if I’m up for it, I could go back to understand what just happened.

Irregularities

That’s the only thing I understood from what the messy doctor said. He said he’ll transfer me to uh, I don’t know the name. I wasn’t paying attention because all I know I was going to die of some unknown disease or whatever. He seemed to be calm though, nope, excited. He reassured me and said I don’t have a terminal illness, or an illness at all, but more of a ‘condition’. He said I was special. I’m not sure if that’s his way of flirting but he was more of talking to the scan results of my brain, rather than to me, as a person.

He asked me if I always have lucid dreams. I said, yes, a lot, actually. In fact, just this morning when I woke up, I had a nice relaxing dream hanging out with Jun Matsumoto of Arashi just for the heck of it. After trying to figure out what “arashi” is, he just moved on and asked me about false memories. I - I really don’t even know if he’s making small talk, or official medical interview or whatever. Realizing that I had no idea what he’s saying, he just handed me a paper, saying someone will pick me up on Saturday - to which I said, I won’t be available. It was my aunt’s birthday party tomorrow. The paper had an address and 2 letters R. M.

The address is to a hospital 2 hours away from my place.

If I don’t post on Monday, that means I’ve been a victim of some elaborate SCAM or, some sort of human trafficking modus operandi. They allowed me to take someone with me this time, though.

Fresh Doctors?

Ah yes, I don’t know about you, but all doctors look FRESH. I don’t mean that in a colloquial way. I would have rather used the world literally but we all know how that word has completely evolved. I am now one of the bitter products of pop culture.

Anyway, doctors. I’ve never seen one sweat. Their skin is smooth and fair, any of them could be in showbiz if they wanted to.They’re that fresh. So I asked myself, why? Why are most doctors looking so fly with their luminous white coats, male or female?

I left the hospital with even more questions than before. It was supposed to be a routine eye check up. Nothing fancy. Suddenly I was in a really hardcore room with two doctors looking at my eye. One said I may have tumor. That’s just bloody fantastic. After a few minutes, they went back and said I have NO tumor. Panic attack over, now can I go home? Nope. They told me I needed a CT scan. I told them I have no healthcard, so they can’t mooch off my bills. Of course I didn’t say the later, that would be inappropriate but satisfying. I’m not extrovert enough to say things like that anyway. You know what they said though? 

“It’s on us.”