true tales from the gates of the underworld

mad ramblings part 2
October 23, 2008, 3:43 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

I wake up suddenly, from unpleasant, confusing sleep and frantically try to hold on to the details of my dreams; pulling myself up, like on a rope, to gain a clear overview, but my dream slips through my hands.
I knew that a few seconds before, my dream had seemed real, as realistic as life, but all that was left now, was a fading clutter of colours, as if someone had rubbed their hands across an unfinished oil painting and smeared the pretty picture to an ugly grey mass.
My nose was hurting, and I could feel a pulsating pain from my shin.
I fingered my nose and felt my leg through the thin fabric of my jeans, but I could find no injuries. The pain itself seemed far away and unreal, like someone else’s pain.
I looked around and realised I was in a train compartment, and that the imaginary pain would have to be the least of my worries. I had no idea what I was doing or how I got there. The realisation that I had no recollection of yesterday rolled over me like a tidal wave, and for a while I gasped for air.
When I regained my breath, I tried to approach the situation rationally – as rationally as possible for someone who just found a big empty void in their memory. I knew who I was. I know how old I was, my parents names, and that of my aunt’s dog – including the day before yesterday, I remembered everything a normal person should know. Yesterday still seemed an uncharted white spot in my memory.
Panic began to rise in me again – all rationality gone. The certainty of being insane. The fear of having lost control over my own mind, of sitting somewhere in a room, imagining a train journey.
I had to get out. Maybe it would help. Maybe I would find yesterday.
At the next stop, I jumped from the train. I took three steps at once, my ankle twisted on the bottom step and I fell onto the platform. My hands were not quick enough to catch my fall, and I landed on my nose. Something cracked, and I could feel warmth streaming down my face. Painfully, I struggled to my feel and wiped the blood from my face. The light cotton of my shirt immediately turned red, but still more blood poured from my nose, which must have been broken. I looked around – the platform was empty – and realised I could not expect any help.  Instead, I tried again to recall even the glimpse of a memory of yesterday, but the effort only caused me a sudden headache that made me stagger forwards. The world around me became darker, but I noticed a bench, about twenty steps ahead of me, to which I dragged myself to with great effort.
After a few minutes, the world became lighter again. The nosebleed stopped, and my mind became clearer. New hope arose in me. Maybe I didn’t lose my memory. How could I be so sure that there had ever been a yesterday? Maybe, the void in my memory only existed in my imagination, and the day before was actually yesterday?
I once again went over the details of the day before yesterday (or yesterday?) – it had been an event less day, spent at home. Yes, Saturday, the fourteenth. The date clear in mind, all I needed to do was to compare it with today’s date. I looked up and down the platform and found the clock with the date display. The sixteenth. I had lost my mind after all.
A terrible emptiness filled my head, and I stared into the empty space. After a while, a flood of questions replaced the emptiness.
What had I been doing? Was I dangerous? Did I kill somebody? And where was I, where had I come from? The last was the only question I could possibly find an answer for, so I got to my feet and walked over to the display with the train timetables. I had never heard of this place. Nor had I heard of the place the train had come from. The only thing I could tell from the timetable, was that the train journey took about an hour, and there were only two trains a day.
I aimlessly walked along the platform. Sometimes, people walked past, but I ignored them. Rarely, a train stopped, but I wasn’t interested. I could not banish the thoughts of the terrible things I may have done, things so bad I had erased them from my memory, along with the entire day. I thought that maybe someone else had done something terrible to me; I tried to force the thoughts down, but they kept alternating with my heartbeat, and every time, I screamed inside. It was like hot and cold showers, icy cold, then boiling heat, and both far beyond my pain thresh hold.
After a while, I forced myself to stop, so I wouldn’t lose my mind, in case I hadn’t yet. I decided to call the police, but turned around after just a few steps.
Was I already wanted? Would they put me into a psychiatric clinic? Or in prison, for murder. Who would care if I said I couldn’t remember the crime?
I looked at the time. I had an hour before the train back to the place where I had come from would arrive. Even though I didn’t know what it would achieve, I decided to explore the town. That’s where my problems originated. Maybe everything would become clear. Maybe there, the white emptiness in my memory would be filled. I hoped so, because it was my last chance.
I began to feel insane again. Felt how thin the fabric of reality was, how unreal everything around me. The world around me turned grey, and, for a moment, was replaced by a vision of a soundproof, padded room, where I lay on a bed, a drip in my arm, while I was dreaming.
I felt like I was spinning, or maybe the world was spinning. I believed I could see reality now, regain consciousness, and wake into the real world, no matter where.
Staggering, I opened my eyes and found myself on the same platform at the train station. And I was disappointed. I almost rather wanted to be insane.
When the train arrived, I felt like Robinson Crusoe, when he saw a ship. I didn’t know why, but I new I was saved. I knew that all this would be over when I arrived in the other town.
I knew, and I got on the train.

I awoke suddenly, with the certainty that I had had an incredibly real dream and lost it again.
I realised my nose and my shin were hurting, but didn’t know why.
I realised that I was on a train, not knowing where I was going, or coming from, or what had happened yesterday.
Panicking, I jumped from the train and painfully fell on my nose.

The psychiatrist nodded understandingly and put his notepad aside.
“Can you imagine, how terrible it is not to know, what was? To be trapped between reality and dreams, every time, on the edge of insanity?”, I asked him.
Again, he nodded understandingly.
“Every night, I have this nightmare, every time, I wake up in a cold sweat, not knowing if the infinite loop of the dream is interrupted! Every night I try to stay awake, so I don’t fall into this vicious cycle! Can you understand that I can’t take it any longer? Just the thought… I just can’t do this anymore, and that’s why I’m here. Can you help me?”
The psychiatrist assured me he could. When I headed home, I held my head up high, to start a new, happier life without dreams in infinite loops.

A pan-dimensional, omniscient being laughed from somewhere about a small, unknowing human, who had gone to a psychiatrist for the nine hundred-and-sixty-second-thousandth time, complaining about a reoccurring dream.


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