DS
Completely restless last night. Tossing and turning; probably because I cannot physically sleep on my stomach as of late. However, the dream itself was a rather traumatic experience.
Complications with my car. I’m forced to knock on the door of a perfectly random stranger, asking for a phone and glass of water. It is pouring. Down-pouring. The door opens and standing in front of me is a man in his late 50’s. He looks weathered, and also strangely familiar. The only belongings with me are my purse, keys, and my dream journal- pages overflowing with vivid and important dreams that I’ve had over the years. The stranger proves to be an extremely strange individual, almost as if he were high on something- sitting very close to me, commenting my skin and scent. Suddenly, it hits me. This man has been in my dreams before; never ending well, an invasion of space and privacy, inappropriate touching, life threatening situations. I get paranoid, pull all of my belongings close. Go to the bathroom to try and call for help, but no one answers and I’m stranded. Return to the kitchen only to find him going through my purse; he’s reading my journal. There are detailed entries involving him and my heart starts to beat a little faster. I inquire about what it is that he’s doing with my journal. His reply, “You’re a very interesting girl.” I fight to get the book from his hands and he begins to laugh and read aloud. I try my best to use more force. He begins to rip the entries out of the journal one by one, and let them fly out the window. My eyes began to swell with tears. Try to keep them back, after all, “crying is the refuge of plain women and the ruin of pretty ones.” There is something so sinister about his behavior. The loose sheets of paper are flying within the house, being pulled to the outside with brute force. I cannot believe what is happening to me. I feel like I’m losing a part of who I am.
I run outside with the intent to collect all of the loose papers, thoughts, and memories. I walk along side of the lake, looking for the lost entries from my journal. The tears are pouring from my eyelids. The rain is coming down even harder. I find bits and pieces of paper, some ripped in two, others stained with mud. It’s hardly the same and I feel an empty hole forming inside of me. The pain is so deep that I can barely even stand.
