From the Dream Archives: D & the Wolf

I meant to post this on the 19th, the 2nd anniversary of this blog's existence, but time got away from me and I plumb forgot. 😞

Anyway, this'll be the final entry from the dream archives, as it's the last dream I recorded prior to my turning this blog into an on-line dream journal. It's a good one, too — a perfect subconscious rendering of my scarred psyche.

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(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 20 NOVEMBER 2016)

I don't remember how the dream started, but the earliest part I remember was taking a trip to D's university. For reasons unrevealed to me, a party was being hosted there in her honour, with lots of balloons and confetti and friends and family and acquaintances.

I arrived there looking particularly disconcerting, dressed only in a loincloth, my hair long and unkempt, rockin' the Kubrick Stare. I tried gaining access to the party, but D ordered me kept out. As they tried shutting the door on me, I wedged my shoulder in the door. I can't remember if I begged her to let me in or not, but as I was slowly pushed back out, she stared hard at me. Wearing a humourless grin, she told me I'd never ever be allowed to see her again or get to be a part of her extended family.

Locked out of the party, I then suffered a complete psychological breakdown. Losing all sense of reality, the entire world dissolved around me into amorphous shapes and swirling colours.

With there being a psychiatric ward at the university, I decided to commit myself. The doctor who saw me was a black man, kind of roly-poly; I think he was patterned off of Paul Winfield.

I was then somehow out of the ward and away from the university, where I encountered a pretty, petite brunette. She sported shoulder-length hair and was wearing form-fitting red-and-black clothes.

(She looked much like the girl at top, dressed in the outfit at bottom, with the aforementioned shoulder-length hair.)

She wanted me to do her right there and then against the wall. As we got going, I began my transformation into the Wolf. The personification of all the secret, base desires I keep bottled up inside, the Wolf didn't just want to screw this woman's brains out figuratively, but literally. It wanted to take all my misery and rage and hate against the world out on her, to tear her to spreads and bathe in her blood.

(Scarred psyche indeed.)

Fighting against my escalating impulses, holding desperately onto my humanity, I pulled out and away from her and quickly left before I lost myself to the animal within. Returning to the ward, I had the doctor lock me back up. Now in a secure cell, the Wolf retreated, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief.

The dream ended there.

From the Dream Archives: All that We See or Seem Is but a Dream Within a Dream (Within a Dream)

(ORIGINAL ENTRY DATE: 10 JULY 2016)

Basically, this dream began with me going back to my old high school to finish off my high school education. This is a recurring dream theme of mine — going back to my old school, where I was expelled back in 2004, the only student there in his twenties, with all the classmates I knew from way back when long gone, leaving me peerless and lonely. Anyway, in these dreams I usually just go through the motions. I may be searching for someone or a photograph of someone I knew from the past,

but otherwise I handle myself well under the circumstances. This time, however, this time I had a nervous breakdown. I started screaming that I shouldn’t be there, that if it weren’t for all the bullshit I had gone through, I would’ve graduated years ago.

That’s when the dream got really bizarre. Suddenly, it was revealed that I wasn’t really myself and that none of this was really happening. I was really a teenaged kid — fourteen or fifteen — who resembled a young Rod Taylor,

the adopted son of a lesbian couple, who had suffered a psychotic break, leading me to believe I was a completely different, older person.

Oh, but the weirdness really jacked up from there. I then slipped on a red visor,

and in doing so I was able to perceive another person in another world; this person was me — not the teenaged Rod Taylor me, but the me me.

Only I was dressed like a man from the '50s — with short, slicked-back hair, attired in a neat black suit — and I was seated in a chair, hooked up to a virtual reality machine.

So, to make it clear, the dream was about this: A 1950s version of myself was hooked up to a virtual reality machine, causing me to experience a VR simulation where I was a teenaged Rod Taylor, who was suffering delusions of being a far older man, who was suffering a mental breakdown as a result of having to go back to his old high school.

(I think Philip K. Dick would’ve been proud of this dream.)

Return of Tales from the Gimpy Hospital

This rather unpleasant dream began with me spying a haggard man wandering around my backyard.

(He looked like the character Chick Hogan from Bates Motel.)

My family took this man to be a prowler, lurking about. However, once I saw him right out back — in plain sight — but my sister didn’t, it became clear I was hallucinating.

In short order, I was brought to a psychiatric hospital. Upon being diagnosed with schizophrenia, they assigned me a doctor and started treating me with drugs. The drugs did very little for me, however, and I soon began experiencing perpetual states of altered consciousness.

(It's what I imagine a bad acid trip to be like, only without the prospect of the trip ever ending.)

On top of the schizophrenia, I turned out to have dissociative identity disorder, too; I manifested a split personality — a female personality who was incredibly foul-mouthed and violent.

Due to these factors, they had me restrained to my bed, though I found ways to wriggle loose.

My attending doctor appeared to me in two different forms. First she appeared to me as Rosie O’Donnell.

(Ugh.)

Then she appeared as a young, long-haired Jamie Lee Curtis.

(Much better.)