Sleep is Actually Worse

If I had to choose between lying awake in bed being miserable, and facing my dreams, I think I’d go full on insomniac.

I’ve always had bad dreams. Usually the theme revolves around someone I care about in peril, and me being unable to help them. A common one is finding a loved one in a car accident on the side of the road, bleeding out, and I go to help them but my arms don’t work. I’ll try doing what I can, using my mouth or my legs, while they continue to ask for help while they’re dying. They never blame me, or get angry, which is how I always expect them to start acting as they die, they just keep asking for help until I wake up.

Almost always, good dream or bad, I am aware that I’m dreaming. Sometimes I’m able to take control of the dream and do fun things, like fly (which is always like swimming through the air, for some reason), but most of the time it’s just a rational voice in the background commenting on how this isn’t real. It’s almost like watching a movie in VR, with all my five senses being engaged with the scene, but I’m still sitting there heckling it. You know, like the guy in the movie theatre who yells, “Don’t go in there, you idiot!”

My dreams lately have been about her. They’ve been normal things, like us lying in bed after work and talking about our day or watching an episode of 30 Rock while we eat dinner. Good memories. But that rational voice is there, heckling. “You fucked all this up.” “You’re never going to be this happy again.”

It’s worse than any nightmare I’ve ever had.

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