So, something really unusual for me…Tuesday night/Wednesday morning was a night of sheer terror…and the end result is a strong sense of foreboding that I simply can’t shake…and I’m not sure I should, even if I could.
I’ll start by saying, bluntly, that I do not have nightmares. Oh, I’ve had dreams that started out scary, but shortly I’ve always realized it was a dream and entered what some would refer to as “lucid dreaming”.
Yeah, I become aware. Woe be unto anything threatening when I’m aware that I can control the world…the situation we’re in. Threats are promptly neutralized…much like threats in real-life…dealt with quickly and ruthlessly. The primary difference is that in lucid dreaming, guns are MUCH easier to come by. More effective too!
This was not a nightmare.
But I’ve had terrifying dreams of a sort. I’ve had “dreams” that left me gasping and nauseous. This one is a great example. Premonitions might be a more correct word, but I hesitate to use it. I make no claims to “see things others can’t see”, but I suppose I believe that I have. It’s only happened a handful of occasions in my entire life.
Cool huh? Not really. The problem here is they’ve always indicated some tragedy or accident…something gone badly wrong. Of course, I’m never really sure and it’s always too late to do anything about it when I become sure. The world is more than willing to shrug things off to a bad dream. It seems expedient to let it.
Suffocation is a terrible way to die.
Crushed…or drowning…or perhaps trapped in a confined space. Doesn’t matter. I couldn’t breathe. Terror. Struggles. Fruitless motion…the air simply wouldn’t come. Before the disorientaton sets in…before the mind shuts down…there is simply terror. And struggling. And pain. It doesn’t take long. The pain. The struggle to breathe. The certainty I could not escape…could not get a breath. Shortly, I was just hoping it would end…wishing I was gone. That was doubly terrifying. I tried to scream and renewed my struggle. It’s simply not in me to give up.
I woke at about 1:30am, rolling out of bed literally gasping for breath and covered with sweat. Adrenaline pumping, heart beating, thoroughly confused and still terrified, but alert.
I immediately dismissed any imminent physical threat. I have a very good alarm system, mostly consisting of a big black dog and a shitload of guns, and the dog hadn’t gone off yet. The dog, in fact, was looking at me curiously from the foot of the bed. No way someone (or something ) got in.
The wife grumbled and rolled over.
So, no intruder. No smoke (there are alarms for that too). No carbon monoxide (the house is all electric). Was it me?
Pulse strong, if a bit fast. Breathing just fine, thank you. No pain. Lot’s of sweat. Ugh. What gives?
Just to give my head time to clear I checked out the house. Did the strong male role…well…thing. No problems.
I was still afraid. Me, the tough biker dude. The dude that’s not afraid of anything. The guy that has so little fear as to be almost irrational at times.
But afraid of what? I’ve no fear of death. I dislike pain, but don’t fear it. I’m not claustrophobic. I have no particular fear of suffocating.
What then? Well, I still wasn’t afraid of anything…there wasn’t anything here. I was still afraid though. I stalked the place a bit longer…looking for a threat. Looking for a fight. Looking for something to kill.
Shortly I tried to sleep. NOT a good idea. As soon as I’d start to drop off, I’d wake suddenly with a new bout and gasping…trying to get the breath denied me in my “dream.”
Not a good night. A few minutes awake and the fear would drain away. The instant I fell asleep it flashed back with a vengeance. I gave up on sleeping. Morning found me surfing channels and the net, not really paying attention to either one. Wondering…
Days have passed and the sensation has not returned…but I know…something, somewhere, is terribly wrong.
It shames me to admit…I really don’t want to find out what.
Ya’ll sleep tight.