Yesterday I forgot to take my tablets and last night I paid the price for it. In the past, I have alluded to what happens to my nocturnal mental state upon missing my daily dose of crazy pills. In the early hours of this morning, I found myself in such a state of distress that I thought it worth sharing.
Of the two episodes I had the first is the tamer them:
I was Spider-Man swinging through the nighttime skyline of New York City when the lights began to die. Building by building they would blink out, the darkness surrounding me as I manoeuvred in search of safety. No matter which way I would turn nothingness would be there ready to consume me. They area of security shrinking by the second. Then I could hear the creatures moving through the shadows of the city, searching for me. As I ascended higher and higher, desperately trying to jump into the sky and away from the faceless terrors below the stars began to go out one by one and the moon started to turn dark. In the end, I had no choice but to fall into the oblivion and whatever was awaiting for me within.
There are probably a multitude of interpretations of this dream, and if that had been the only one I had, I think I would have been able to cope or at the very least not have been so badly shaken.
However, the second episode exceeded the first in just about every way possible:
I was one of four detectives assigned to investigate the death of a prostitute involved with WWE Superstar The Undertaker. We arrived at the woman’s flat. It was a sad little studio apartment that was mainly a bedroom and a hall connecting it to the front door. One side of the room had been converted into a makeshift kitchen. The whole place stank of rotting food. The carpets were damp with mould caused by leakage from the defrosting fridge. Beyond that, the area was empty. The bed had been stripped, and there were no personal effects lying around.
The female detective opened the sizeable wardrobe and found a handful of clothes hanging up, belonging to both the woman and a child. The top part of the fitted wardrobe was a separate cupboard. Upon opening it, we discovered the mummified body of a small boy. Folded away like it was being stored for future use.
As we removed the child’s husk, we found stacks and stacks of electronic tablets, each one with a different family or child upon the lock screen along with a date. Without it being expressed to me, I knew that these people had all been murdered. I stood in the doorway and watched my colleague build a mosaic out of the tablets on the floor before collapsing to my knees and weeping as wave hopelessness washed over me. How could we possibly hope to defeat such relentless evil.
The scientific reason for the intensity of my dreams is because my medication affects my brain chemistry and that if my body misses the usual dosage of whatever chemical the drugs produce vivid dreams are a side effect. The problem is that I don’t dream and only have nightmares. This is life long problem and nothing new, but in forgetting to take my medication, the problem is exacerbated beyond all measure.
The lesson of the day; don’t break routine as it only leads to dark places.