Good night, have nightmares

***

— Do you often have nightmares? I sure do.

I’m tired of waking up with my heart pounding, covered in a cold sweat, and overcome by terrible panic. This has been going on for over a year now. It gets worse every time. The episodes are different, the scenarios vary, but the outcome is always the same: guilt, shame, pain, panic, and fear. My heart feels like it’s about to burst from the rush of blood, pounding against my ribs and muscles. It’s impossible to breathe; my body seems to ignore the brain’s signals—it’s like a remote control without batteries: the buttons are just useless rubber. And my whole body feels like cotton; the fog around the world thickens, luring me in with its dampness and coolness, while my legs sink into the swamp. I don’t want to fall asleep. The excuse “I’m fine” still saves me from the persistent questions and worried glances of my loved ones, who look at my tired face and the dark purple circles slowly spreading under my eyes. And when I look in the mirror in the morning, I watch as my body struggles not to die and sends out signals, painting my face with the moon’s kisses. Maybe none of this is real? Maybe I did die back then, and this is my hell? Or is this a coma, and my unconscious body is lying in a hospital across the sea? That possibility has also crossed my mind in my dreams—the ones that flash by in a blur, like the twenty-fifth frame, not letting me make out the details… Though what details are there in dreams? What am I talking about if I can’t even see their faces? And I’ve never seen them. Just emptiness. Absolute and incomprehensible emptiness, which is impossible for a human being to imagine. It’s like asking someone who has been blind since birth to describe what he sees. I try not to talk about my dreams. Taking this step feels like a mistake, but I’m afraid to turn back. At least two of us believe that dreams are prophetic and that there’s definitely meaning in them. But I want to be a rational person—or just a tired one who’s simply going through a rough patch—and that’s what’s causing the nightmares and the lack of sleep.

***

But now the clock reads 1:25 a.m., and it’s time once again to set off for that strange dimension called dreams. The room is pitch black; the window is slightly open to let in some fresh air, bringing the cool night air inside. It’s surprisingly hot today, so the blanket remains untouched, and my body lies simply on top of it, covering only my legs with a light throw. My head, heavy with thoughts, settles onto the pillow, scattering curly strands across the white fabric. The darkness and silence slowly engulf me, sending the traveler off to a new realm of nightmares. Good night, and sweet nightmares.