Bloody Nightmares...

Just woke up. My skin is crawling and my body as always is screaming in crippling pain. Most of that is normal, except the skin crawling. I just woke up from a very long dream that went from uncomfortable to weird to just plain violently disturbing and I'm trembling as I type.

First I dreamed about my current landlord having been my landlord while I still lived with my abusive ex Kimmy, pressuring me to kick Kimmy out or be kicked out myself and I had to watch myself making "I walked into a door" excuses until I wanted to scream at myself. This oddly was after Fran had left in a car we don't own to drive to a store back in Georgia to buy a product that doesn't exist.

Somehow the dream shifted to a small pub with a tv crew, and I was for no apparent reason now on set at a Doctor Who taping where Leonard Nimoy was replacing Anthony Stuart Head as the narrator of Confidential. Aware I was dreaming but helpless to go lucid enough to actually control the dream, I thought to myself "Whew, the dream won't be so bad now". I watched amused as Matt Smoth in a Tennant blue suit pretended not to know Nimoy for a moment before going all fanboy on him. At which point I was asked to go outside to make sure none of the crowd had videocameras.

And that's when my brain decided to really stab me in the gut. This part may be highly triggery. So here's a jump to avoid accidental triggering.










Outside on the sidewalk the crowd wasn't watching the filming. They were hooting and hollaring as a bald biker looking man was violentally anally raping two drunk and near unconscious women, while NO ONE could be bothered to try and stop him. He frequently dragged them around the pavement by their hair before switching from one to the other and punching when one tried to crawl away. No one in the crowd cared, they were all laughing and cheering him on. A few were even masturbating. And I stood there watching the me in the dream cowering against a shop window hiding her eyes, scvreaming at her to do something, to stop this, to go kick the bastard square in his throat or crack his skull open with the pipe laying right at her/my feet, but she/I just ran inside to pee, trying to pretend she saw nothing. And wanting to vomit, and thankfully having to actually get up and pee, my body forced me awaker to go drain my bladder. I have never in my life been so grateful for my overactive bladder.

I keep trying to tell myself it was just a dream. That if something so horrible ever happened in real life in my presence that I'd intervene. But I'm still haunted by the Anne-Marie incident. I'm still haunted by the wondering.

I fucking hate my cruel subconscious.