Lucid

Once upon a time, there was a girl who liked to sleep because she liked to dream. She’d drift down the bends of a silver river, eyes heavy as coins until her soul sank deep into the sand and watched as her body floated away. She wakes up in London, in the arms of One, in the park where the sky is only ever a muted shade of pink. She is almost always with friends, and when she is not, she is walking the streets of a city at night. She does not carry pepper spray. She is told she is loved. She does not get tired. She performs without fear. She talks without filter. She fights and she wins. She already knows she will always win. If she were given a choice to have everything in a simulation or to live life as it is, she would take it. She already has.

I know that something is wrong. It’s been years since I’ve woken up from nightmares. Actual nightmares. Not the oh no what if Randall Boggs cheated on me with that girl I don’t like, but the someone is dead, someone is chasing me kind of nightmare. At least I think I know when it started. Exactly a week ago, the afternoon before I went to Fiorello with boy for drinks I took a nap when I should not have. The first nap I’d taken in weeks. Shouldn’t have done that. Should not have done that. I’ve experienced sleep paralysis before. You’re awake but you’re not. You are aware, or at least you think you are, but you cannot move. You cannot scream. You cannot even breathe. And all you can feel is fear. And usually I manage to wake myself and escape but not this time. This time I tried to move, I tried so hard to fight, and I ended up peeling myself away from my body. I found myself at the edge of my bed. I looked out the window at the birds flying by, the hair on my floor, the minutes change on the microwave clock. And when I turned to the right, I saw the side of my own face. At least I think it was my own face. It had to have been. Who else would I see laying in this bed, in this room. I don’t remember how I managed to wake up. But I hadn’t moved at all and my entire body was sore.

Since then, my body feels fried, my mind is fatigued, and I’ve been having nightmares. This morning I woke up crying because I watched someone die. I loved them. I couldn’t save them. The only relief I have is that the boy sleeping beside me didn’t hear. This afternoon I fell asleep because I couldn’t manage to keep myself awake. I was being chased and I could not run fast enough. I could not hide smart enough. In the dreams from the past few nights, I’ve lost friends. I’ve failed people. I’ve failed myself. I wake up in sweat and fear, more tired than I was the night before. I do not want to sleep anymore.

The derealization and depersonalization I felt so strongly after I broke my brain a few months ago has come back. Not that it ever really left, but it was a thought so faded that I barely noticed it was still there. Now it’s doused in color again, a combination of the out of body experience and the boy’s last girlfriend that people say I look like. Speaking of boy, his concert last night was good. So was his suit. I think it was the first time I’d been to Carnegie as an audience member. And the hall was surprisingly packed and I learned some cool World War II facts. The narrator reminded me of speech and debate. The music reminded me of orchestra. I felt like the person I was in high school again. I wonder what she’d think of me now. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Afterwards, we went to this Cuban place a block away from my apartment where there was live music. He says he wants us to go every week. He says he wants to double date. He says he wants to take me to a spa, ride around with me on a moped, run with me in Central Park. He says he wants to hear me sing. He says a lot of things. And now there is a toothbrush of his in my bathroom. I do not think I want it there. Then why did you let him leave it?

It’s not that late now but I know I need to sleep. Maybe I won’t have any dreams tonight at all. Maybe I’ll wake up and feel like running again. I miss my productive mind. I miss that girl from a few weeks ago. Soot says to analyze my dreams, but I don’t even have the mental capacity for that right now. My sentences are choppy and short. My arms are sore from doing absolutely nothing. I can’t even come up with an ending for this post. So, like, bye.