& here I am.
I’ve been lost lately in decisions to be made, and now I guess I’m wondering where to go.
My head has been torturing me for a month now on top of my usual inner monologue, which flew me into a nightmare that grew in detail over weeks and weeks of waking up shrieking, clawing, kicking, in terror. But now, oh, now, I can remember all of it.
I was in a house.
An old, dark, Victorian style house. I was walking, in jeans and a t-shirt, socks, across creaking wood floors on the second floor. I was in a hallway that wrapped around a set of stairs, surrounded by several rooms, all of their doors (these doors being too high in number to be architecturally possible) slightly cracked open.
I could hear people whispering, several, several people, in the many rooms from the corner of the hall where I waited, and an unnerving scratching noise coming from above my head that I dared not glance up to investigate. I began to walk towards the first door on my right. At the moment I got to the door, someone whispered in my ear. I could feel their hot breath on the back of my right ear, and feel the energy of them bounce off of me though they were not touching me. They simply said, “Go in.”
This process continued while I wandered into each room. Some rooms, I was told not to enter, and I complied, feeling no need to. The rooms were all decorated in correspondence with a typical Victorian household, some were children’s rooms, bathrooms, tea rooms. Some were filled with people so much so that I could not hardly go inside. Stagnant, empty-eyed people of all ages and sizes, just standing static, not breathing, not moving anything but their eyes as I walked around the room. Each room was different in its own disturbing traits, and the list goes on.
For some reason, I found myself back at the first door, stuck in a loop, entering different rooms each time I’d pass through the same door, and finding myself at the same corner of the hall where I started. This went on for hours, days, what seemed like a life time, until I came to a new door.
It was an average door, just like the others, except for where the other doors had been cracked open this one was shut. I reached out to open the door, and someone grabbed my forearm; hard.
I spun around to see no one but myself floating down from the ceiling. I was dressed differently, in an old, weathered night gown. I was the same physically except for my eyes. In each, the iris had stretched, filling my eyes with a dark green color with specks of yellow, and leaving my pupils invisible. The skin around my eyelids had darkened, and I noticed that the fingernails on my hands had been decimated to bloody pieces, at which point I knew that I had been the one scratching on the ceiling, whispering in my ear. I felt like I was looking at a monster. To myself, I was the most horrifying thing to see in that house.
I stood looking back towards the door, still wanting to open it, when my morbid doppelganger grabbed my hand and said, “Don’t.” That was all, nothing more. But, I do remember sharing an odd moment of empathy and connection with myself, that in the moment felt foreign and wrong.
I opened the door.
There was a staircase, leading downstairs, at a familiar looking incline to the one i’d seen spiraling down in the hallway. I walked down, and as I did, the color started to fade from everything I could see, and sounds dropped off into nothing, leaving me in a colorless silence at the foot of the stairs.
I walked out of the door at the bottom to find myself in the exact same corner on the second floor. Only this time, I didn’t just feel disturbed, or afraid. I felt physically weighed down and suffocated by dread, and terror. I knew that I couldn’t go back through the door.
All of the doors were closed. I walked to each one, opening it, walking to the next, until they were all open. I went back to that corner of the hall, and I waited. I waited for them to swallow me. One by one, the same people i’d seen before came out of the rooms, only now, they were talking, screaming, wailing, crying. But I couldn’t hear them, and I couldn’t help them, and yet, at the deepest level, I could feel that I knew each and every one of them. As an unmarried, single human-being I felt connections on every level in the energy that these people were throwing at me. I felt my spouse, my children, my siblings, my friends, my lovers, my enemies. People that I had never met, yet I knew them. I could feel their every emotion.
They surrounded me. The warped, malevolent, grotesque left overs of those people smothered me. I felt them begin to grab me, claw me, stab me. I died in that corner of the hall buried underneath the agony of them. The worst part was the silence.
Now, if anyone is still around at this point…
For weeks i’d been having this dream, but at the beginning, I would never wake up scared, because I hadn’t been able to remember enough of the dream to be. However, I would wake up with small bruises on the inside of my forearm, which I coined to always being the clumsy, accident-prone person that bruises like a peach. This escalated over time as did the growing feeling of fear until I woke up one morning with my right hand clenched around my left forearm. I removed my hand to find a dark, new bruise where my thumb had been.
This has all been a novel in terms of online postings but I will spare anymore excess details unless asked and end with this. I am not a person who believes that dreams are insignificant in our lives. I can’t convince myself that the sheer terror I experienced was a product of my brain firing off random signals to maintain function while I slept. While I can’t say I know why I’ve had this dream, I can say that I know it means something; something important.
It’s odd hearing the back and forth of the Hobbit fans.
Personally, I think a lot of the extra side missions that were not added in were completely unnecessary.
I also don’t agree with Peter Jackson creating a trilogy of the Hobbit. Yes, there is a lot of information to be conveyed, but not enough to fill 3 films, and not enough to fill 2 films with some overflow, which would call for the films to be fluffed up and stretched along to make a complete trilogy.
I also could start a rant about how I completely disapprove of the overly-used CGI and coloring effects in the Hobbit series, but who knows how long my rambling could last.
ANYWAYS, opinions from any of you?