Archive for the ‘Nightmares’ Category

I avoid mirrors, I simply can’t handle seeing my own reflection. I naturally have a difficult time making eye contact with anyone, fearing they will see through my mask. The rare moments I make eye contact with the man in the Mirror I grow weary and this is what came out.

My faces of evil

Cleverly hidden 

My eyes…

The window into a voidless darkness…

Soulless 

Stare too long and he takes you away

“Grab my hand”

“I will take this pain away”

“Follow me into the shadows”

“Fear not of voided thoughts”

“Shed no tears”

“We have lived beyond our years”

“Trust in me”

“To take the pain away”

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There is a place we go

Where we cannot find light

Our eyes adjusted

To our own twisted Plight

We hide in places

Live with fright

Within this never-ending night

We roam

We seek

In search of light

Mind to fucked to speak

Within his never-ending night

We reach our hands up high

Seeking comfort from imaginary hands

We find nothing

Only the pain

Which never went away

No end in sight

Within this never-ending night

Scream all you want

No one will hear

Reality is no one is there

I seek

Until my knees are weak

Reality setting in

I have traveled nowhere

Trapped within

My suffocating box

I am in this never-ending night

A feeble prayer

To a God who was never there

The time has come

Within this box

My mind rots

No air

No light

No hope

Only madness

Brought on from my never-ending night

My cold dark stare

nothing is something

Better

Than living in my never-ending night

In my hands

I hold the key

My only freedom

Only escape

From my never-ending night

One blissful pull

I enter into the light

It amazes me how quickly I can be beaten down. How easily I can fall apart. How little I can handle. How easily I can lie to myself. Its borderline delusional laced with denial. Happiness and hope are things I cannot know, let alone ever have. I want the acceptance, of knowing things will never be alright. I want the comfort that comes from embracing this reality. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to think. Life was better when I was dead inside. It is so much better than to continue living a lie.

My intended focus this week was to break down, analyze, and apply my methodology to three single events with the intended outcome of making the correct choice. Do I stay or do I go? I have repeatedly replayed the same haunting moment of seeing my son still and quiet on his bike as he watched me get in the car to go to work. In that moment I could see in his eyes the internal conflict between acceptance and denial that his dad is slipping away. I could see and understand all too well the sadness he was trying so bravely to hide.

It is difficult for me to release my sadness and sorrow through the shedding of tears. The only time the outside world can see what I try so hard to hide, is when I cannot hold back my tears. At that moment, just as in this moment writing about it I cannot stop the tears. Many people say that crying is supposed to be this wonderful release of pent up emotions. It’s not like that for me. Tears feel like razor blades running down my face, slicing through self-denial and exposing my weakness and vulnerability. Regardless of how many times I have been told I am selfish and only think of myself, at the end of the day my meaning in life, and my purpose is to not break his heart. I am well aware I will never win the father of the year award. To be honest with you I don’t even know if I’m a good father. Despite what I am told I know I have always tried to be the best dad I could be.

After the series of events that took place yesterday, or would it be considered today? I haven’t slept for days so time holds no logical meaning. After said events the only answer to my opening question; is to go. There are only so many pieces someone can be broken into before they are unable to be put back together. I now need to come to terms with the sobering reality that I will become in my own eyes everything I ever swore I wouldn’t. I will become my fathers son. I am desperately seeking, yet fear I will be unable to live with the guilt, or forgive myself.

Children are not stone, nor are they steel. They are dirt and clay, molded by the hands of experience. There is no way to reconcile the loss of my son’s happiness and hope due to the harsh reality of my life, which I have viciously infected upon my family. Despite my frequent mental transformations I made the decision to get married and have children; in that single moment I destroyed their lives. I suppose I was caught up in the perceived human need for significance, by my own sense of insecurity. Here is where I cannot deny my selfishness. Broken dolls are meant to walk alone.

In moments like this I want to hide within the minds of Soren Kierkegaard and Albert Camus covering myself in the blanket of Absurdism. Believing all struggles for life is for nothing. There is only birth and death, and everything in between is our feeble attempt to find meaning and purpose. This concept is wonderful, but in the back of my mind I’m burdened with this question. What if birth and death were only two points, that they were inconsequential compared to what happens between them?

Lately when I close my eyes I have been seeing the same thing over and over again? The vision and the nightmares which follow always remains the same. When I close my eyes it starts out with blackness with vague splashes of white light. Soon the flashes of light disappear and there is nothing except the dark. I walk endlessly in this darkness making out formless shadows, until I see a flicker of light in the farthest of backgrounds. I walk towards this light until I can just make out the vision of a chair and a television. I cannot see what is on the television but I can see the faint splashes of color. I walk towards this chair and television, but somehow it seems like I am not even moving. The image seems to stay at the exact distance no matter how far I travel. Eventually I tire of the journey and fall asleep.

Over the last few weeks I have been having the most horrendous nightmares night after night. The nightmares are always different but share two common themes. The first theme is I die in every one of them. Prior to this most recent rash of dreams I always believed it was impossible to die in a dream, but I now know this to not be the case. The way I die is different from dream to dream, but the feeling and sensation I experience are exactly the same. Once I die I experience nothingness, just pitch black then a terrifying void of nonexistence. I immediately wake up in a panic with my body dripping with sweat.

The other common theme is the man who is in my dreams. I feel I should give a brief history of this man since he has been with me since I was ten. I was in the fifth grade and living with my grandma at the time when one night I had the most frightening dream. I remember this night and the subsequent events which followed me like it was just yesterday. The brief synopsis of the dream went like this.

We just moved into this new house and while we were given the tour by the realtor we came across this metal door with six locks. Along with these six locks were an additional six pad locks. We asked the man if he had the keys to this door. He chuckled and said “no but there is nothing in there and we had no need to not go in there.” I went to bed and woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I was walking down the hall I crossed the door and all locks were undone and the door was slightly opened. I had this sense of fear with a sense of curiosity. I opened the door and entered the room. What I saw next is burned into my mind. The room was empty and cold. The walls were covered in blood with designs and various different phrases. In the center of the room there was a man sitting in a chair with his back turned to me. The man was rocking back and forth, and mumbling words I couldn’t understand. I could see his hair it was long, black and greasy. All of a sudden with a blink of an eye the chair turns around and this man is staring at me with his cold black eyes. He gets out of his chair and runs towards me grabbing me by my shoulders and says “dead is better.” I awoke immediately and as I turned to look at the door I could see the man standing there saying “dead is better.”

I was in such intense fear I went straight away to wake my grandma up. I remember that entire morning I was shivering and I wouldn’t leave my grandma’s side. The following nights I was afraid to fall asleep in fear of having a reoccurring dream about this man. Since that night I have had nightmares about this man. He is the personification of evil. There have even been times I have thought I have seen or heard him during the day. I remember this one time I thought I saw him during class. I remember freaking out because I thought I saw him outside. I was so afraid I made an embarrassing scene in class. It has been years since I have dreamt about this man; now I dream about him every night, and when I awake I can still hear him speaking to me.