Dream hangover-ghosts, attacks, and other bizarre stuff
Last night(or most people’s ‘yesterday’)I took two melatonin around 6 o’clock in order to force myself to fall asleep. Having a job where sometimes I work at 4am and sometimes I work at 2pm…doesn’t do wonders for my sleep schedule.
Well, I may have taken a little much, as I truly did feel drugged the whole night. The melatonin didn’t stop me from waking up constantly, but it did seem to help me get back to sleep.
Along with this deep sleep came a plethorae of dreams. Nightmares, really. Every dream involved some kind of fear, terror, disgust, or just completely bizaare details.
The dream that is frontmost in my mind right now is the one where I was riding my bike, at night on a road near (one of ) my childhood homes. In the dream, I was jumped by a gang of men and raped. My mind left no detail out. Now, to my knowledge I have never been raped. But I assume this dream had to do with my fears of going to ride my bike to work early in the morning, sometimes riding at 3am. The fact that it was at the childhood home where most of the unfortunate things of my life occurred…well I don’t know.
Another dream I had which was surprisingly more frightening than the first was one of me and my family staying in a haunted house. By family I mean me, my mom, and my brothers. Minus my sister and ex-stepdad(who is usually still my stepdad in many of my dreams.) Doors would slam, and my little brother(who is autistic) insisted that he “played with children upstairs,” even though there were no others in the house but us. I found out later that the house was one where a mother had killed all her children.
At the end of the dream, despite my little brothers’ pleads to stay, we were all ready to leave this house and be homeless. (we were homeless for sometime, not sure if there is any connection there.) We were all out in the yard, ready to leave, when my little brother said he wanted to go back in and say goodbye to the “children.” My mother tried to open the front door again, but it slammed in her face. When my brother went to open it, nothing. He walked straight in. I followed him.
He went up the stairs and I could hear him talking and laughing to some kind of imaginary friends. I was paralyzed with fear, but forced my legs to move up the stairs anyway. Upon reaching the loft, I saw them. At least 10 children, boys and girls, between the ages of maybe 4 and 7. All were injured in some way. One looked depressed and stared off into space. These were the ghosts.
I talked to them, and they seemed to enjoy my company. I admired one little boy’s action figure he was playing with. My mother arrived at the top of the stairs, and the children vanished.
“Mom, if you would just have a little faith, maybe they’ll show themselves to you.”
“It’s no use,” she said. “You have shown yourself to be a better ‘mother’ to them than I would.”
And that was all.