Taking Charge of Your Nightmares

When I was in college, my Intro to Pysch prof made us keep dream journals because he wanted us to learn to control our dreams. (Yes, we all thought he was certifiable. And sadly he was tenured and spent most of his time talking about Native American dream catchers and not Freud et al.) Despite the 500 of us diligently, or not so diligently, writing down our dreams, none of us learned to control them.

It’s a cool idea though. I’d especially like to control my nightmares. When I have them, I wake up drenched in sweat. And often when I fall back to sleep I end up in the same nightmare. I did learn to “finish” my nightmares when I woke up and that usually keeps me from going back into the nightmare. So if I was being pursued and my legs were frozen and I couldn’t move or scream, I finish the dream by being able to run/scream/shoot/etc. I’m not too creative at 2am. But I’m considering adding a bullwhip and scythe-sword to my post-dream arsenal.

Lately, I’ve been having these semi-nightmares. Not really scary, but disconcerting. First, I’d get tied up and thrown into a tiny box—I had about four nights of these. Thankfully, I’m not claustrophobic, but getting thrown into an igloo cooler was a bit much. The next night, I had a dream that the stalker was back. (If you’ve been reading my blog for a long time, you know that I had a stalker in college—back before anti-stalking laws—who made my life and that of a couple of my friends a horror.) At any rate, in the dream I captured the stalker!! And I slapped him across the face.

I haven’t learned to control my dreams and I still think my prof was seriously crazed, but getting “closure” sure felt good. Next up, the evil shadowy guy that stuffed me in a box. I’ve got a taser and handcuffs waiting for him.

Benadryl Dreams

Yesterday morning I decided to do some weeding. The ground was soft from rain and the weather was cool. So I weeded. Then I came inside. And washed up. I noticed a red mark on my temple. It itched a bit so I slopped some Benadryl cream on it and got on with the rest of my day.

In the afternoon when child number three got home from class and saw me, he said, “Wow. That’s interesting.” I went to look in the mirror. My upper eyelid was swollen. Hmm. I tried some ice. It didn’t help.

By dinner, the lower eyelid was swelling and my eye was watering. I made cold compresses. I was avoiding oral Benadryl because it makes my hands shake. By evening, child two came home from an exam and said, “If you don’t do something about your eye, it will swell shut.” Cal said, “Whoa, you look like you’ve been punched in the face, only no bruising.”

So I took Benadryl. And went to sleep, and woke up a lot. But the dreams...

I dreamt of a 50 foot brick fireplace with a wide maw. And it was hungry. I saw rows of old-fashioned tuxedo collars that looked suspiciously like constrictors. I saw psychedelic paint that rippled and danced malevolently. And I rode in elevators that opened into nothingness. If I’d dreamt of tutu-clad elephants carrying stilettos, I’d have known I was in a macabre version of Fantasia.

When I woke up this morning (my eye still looks terrible), I wished that I wrote speculative fiction because I’d have material enough for a month of short stories. Has anyone else ever had Benadryl dreams?

I have to admit I’m almost looking forward to more Benadryl tonight.

Nightmares

Everyone dreams. Most people can tell the difference between dreams and real life. I’m not so good at that. My dreams are extremely vivid. (I would have been a great architect in Inception.) So when I wake up, I’m often very confused. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve shaken Cal awake and said, “The police are pounding on the front door.” His response after many such episodes is, “I’m not getting up. The police can beat down the door if they want in.” Now before you wonder if I’ve committed any felonies, the answer is no. I suspect these dreams may be the result of the stories of Nazi soldiers breaking into my mother’s home and chasing after my grandfather. But these dreams make sense. I have an existential reason for them.

But I have other nightmares. These are worse. They wake me up and leave me breathless or hyperventilating. They’re claustrophobia dreams. Which would be understandable if I was claustrophobic, but I’m not. Closed in spaces don’t bother me in the least. You need someone to creep on their tummy down the crawlspace and put up insulation 100 feet from the floor opening, I’m your crawler. The idea of inching my way through air conditioning ducts to break into an evil lair sounds like fun to me. So why do I have these claustrophobia nightmares? Is there anyone else out there who has psycho dreams too? I’d love to know I’m not the only one.