Dark dreams

It is a sunny morning and I am blogging and answering emails whilst my hair dries. I have been signed off work with exhaustion and bronchitis, so I now have a period of quiet time to look forward to, which is a great relief. I am still not sleeping very well, but I expect if I practice not stressing and try to take steps back from it all this may improve. Things run round in my head, and of course the more tired you get, the harder it is to concentrate and the more anxious you feel. I have felt recently that I have been letting myself and everyone down which is silly when I think about it, I have done a lot, it is just that however much I do, there always seems to be more and more piling up. I had the dream again last night. This dream keeps coming back to me, I have it about twice a week. It makes me afraid to sleep, sometimes.

I told my psychologist about it, and she gave me some ideas for how to take control of the dream. I also think perhaps writing it down might make it go away. So here goes.

I wake up and it is dark. The flat is full of evil and darkness. It is like a black smoke or fog that blots out all familar surroundings. The walls, the floor, have all disappeared, there is only the blackness, which is more than blackness, it has a presence and an intelligence and it wants to smother me and pour into me, penetrate me, my eyes, my nose, my throat, everywhere. Only the bed is there. I turn and reach for J, but he is gone.

I want to stay under the white covers, where the evil dark cannot get me, but then I hear screaming. Terrible, endless, agonised screaming. It is coming from the sitting room. I know that I must go and see what it is. I get out of bed and I am filled with foreboding. I press my mouth together to stop the black smoke getting into it. I wander down the hall, disorientated, reaching for solid surfaces to guide me, which are not there. In the sitting room, J and I have a very large aquarium with two koi carp and five goldfish, which we have looked after for seven years. I am very fond of the beautiful golden fish, who eat from our fingers each morning. The water has drained out of the aquarium and the fish are lying and writhing on the gravel floor, in about two inches of water, and they are screaming and screaming and writhing and helpless. I run to the sink and look frantically for a bucket to fill. There is no bucket, no water in the tap, I cannot help them. The fish scream and scream, and I think about whether I can carry them in my hands to a neighbour's house, and put them in the bath or sink there, and save them, but I have no way to carry them, I will drop them, they will die. The black is suffocating me, now I am going to die too. I am alone. J is not there. Where is he? I must find him, and leave the fish. I force myself to leave the screaming, flapping fish and I try to find the door to get out. Sometimes I find the door and I am crying. Sometimes I start to scream myself, and the smoke-stuff chokes me, and I die.

Then I wake up. If I find the door, I wake up almost crying. If I don't find the door, I wake up covered in sweat and about to shout out for help.

I feel cold just typing that. My psychologist told me to imagine, before I go to bed, a torch by my bedside, to dispel the dark, a bucket full of water, ready by the aquarium, to rescue the fish, keys in the door, to escape from the house, J by my side, to help me. Maybe tonight I will actually put a real torch by the bed, a real bucket of water in the kitchen, leave the keys by the door. J will think I am mad, but I will explain, and maybe tonight I will break the dream.

I know what the dream is about: the tunnel, the train, the morning of 7th July. I was told that if you tell a dream, it breaks and dissipates and loses its power. So, goodbye dream, off you go across the internet, time to leave me in peace. Over and out, and thank you for reading and helping me break my dream. I will let you know if it returns.

And if it goes away, it will be another victory for the power of blogging!