Tag Archives: nightmare

Escapade bursts

Been having more nightmares recently. The types that linger even though you’re dog tired daily and forget important details of your everyday waking life regularly.

1) He was taping girls, 2 of which were literally doll sized. 1 was a young adult. They started spilling vomit from their vaginas after he was finished and we went down on them. The older lady tried to push him away, shocked and repulsed but he pushed on. She eventually gave in and engaged in the fellatio as well. 

2) I will update this when I remember. A little woozy right now

3) I have been telling myself that I deserve to be treated wonderfully by my future partner. Went to bed with drowsy fever medicine during the afternoon. 

I told my friend that I deserve to be treated well. He leaned over, hand on the back of my neck to pull me in to kiss me. I pushed him away. He told me, “For someone who has so many criterias, you should have lower standards.”

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

Escapade – 11th October 

My mom was angry, furious at me and in spite, I picked up the handgun, pointed it at my stomach upside down, and pulled. 

No recoil no heat, just pain. A very bad cramp, seeping blood that doesn’t drip. I felt the bullet within my stomach, pulling my centre of gravity towards it so my soul and mind and fear were buried in its middle.

M made his appearance again, offering to send me to the hospital. I get in the cab with him, the bullet now lodged deep like an unborn child, haunting my future. We switched cars, why? But the next driver was a policeman and I was scared to mentioned I shot myself with a gun, yet he waved it off with embarrassment, as though mentioning my use of a gun to hurt myself was shameful to talk about.

I lean on M’s shoulder, seeking comfort and love, and he leans his head upon mine. Home. Peace. Huge wrench of pain and doubled over.

Back to a house, everyone there. My mother was angry and not sympathetic.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

3rd Nightmare in a row

I wouldn’t say it was a nightmare as Hollywood imagines it. No scary monsters, no sudden ghost or monster popping up and scaring me awake – though I had one a couple months back, had to get a hug in the middle of the night from fear – but these three nights have been filled with nightmares that are intensely stressful scenarios.

I dreamt of Chris last night. I was out with friends at… a park of sorts. He was across the lake, or on the lake canoeing. He was bigger, more muscular to an extent but clearly denser and wider. His hair was a crazy afro mess. It was uncomfortable seeing him walking around constantly flexing his biceps. He came over, sat down, and tried to be conversational with everyone, but me. Stares of pity filled the table and I sat in quiet discomfort, minimal eye contact and stiff body posture. Finally got up and left, half running away from him. From them.

He follows, so what else can I do but hop onto the train and hope to lose him? He follows.

Next thing I know, I’m in a courtyard, and using a balloon float up towards a flaky pastry cloud, coasted with sugary gloss like Ritz’s Strudels. I’m not just literally running away from my problems, I’m flying away from it. He becomes Jon in how I was going to find him at his place, but it’s complicated to journey there.

Then I’m at my booth, my magazine’s booth. But who are these girls selling our magazine’s stuff? We have merchandise… we have MERCHANDISE? These girls are punks, they don’t care for the magazine, they don’t care for the store. Why are they here, what’s happening. I take charge and give notes on what needs to be rearranged and sold and explained or given descriptions. Nothing, they listen to nothing and no one.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: