I don't know why I'm typing this. I'm acting like these words will reach anybody, like I'm doing anything other than throwing meaningless words at a page that doesn't even physically exist. Even if people were to read this, they would dismiss these chronicles as fiction.
Let them. I know people don't believe me and I've given up on caring long ago. I can only make this sound semi-plausible and semi-rational, but hopefully the way I word sentences will be in such a cohesive way that you (whomever you, you nonexistent, hypothetical reader may or may not be) won't show this to your friends (whether or not you have any, of course- no offense meant, of course, again this is completely relative to the fact of whether or not anyone truly reads this blog) and giggle over the new complete lunatic who decided to put up a little public web journal. This isn't Ted is God, here, though I'll gladly call my own mental health into question. I'd be so happy is simply being unable to trust my own perceptions and senses was all I was dealing with. At least then I would be assured that it wasn't anyone else, it was just me.
I won't give out a real name. That's just silly. Neither will I be so oh-so humble by bequeathing myself with some haughty, badass name like "The Wanderer" or "The Dreamless Dreamer" or something else completely self-contrary.
Actually, nevermind, I'm too lazy to think of a fake name more original than John Smith so I'll just say- hm... The Chancellor. Yeah, call me The Chancellor. Why? Because I just thought it up and when I don't have god-awful nightmares that keep me in cold sweats or visions of things that aren't real that make me doubt the stability of this pointless and meaningless universe that we live in, I'm a sassy piece of shit.
You don't like The Chancellor? Fine. Call me "daddy", for short. Why not. Go crazy.
I guess I haven't been explaining myself. It would constitute me re-addressing my own failing mental health and currently this electronic sheet is a peaceful solitary island of perceptual normality in a sea of "what the fuck is happening to my mind".
I guess the first thing I should say is, I have dreams. Well, I say dreams, but I guess you would call them nightmares. I wouldn't even call them that. What they are lacks a suitable word in English that would do the horrifying experiences justice. It starts out the same way every time, and every time it feels real to the point that I can't believe it's not when I truly wake up. I say truly because every dream starts the same way- with me getting out of bed, making it, and stepping out of the door. It's not until that door opens that the fragile thread of reality in my subconscious snaps completely.
I have a very strong distrust of doctors and medical professionals in general, as ridiculous as that may seem to you. Well, tough it up. It's a waste of money if I'm too unsure of medical practitioners to even take what they're saying at face value, and so I looked up alternative coping mechanisms for things like I have. Unsurprisingly, there aren't many- or should I say any- coping mechanisms for recurring nightmares in the same vein as the ones I have. But the closest conceivable one that I could find was to write down my nightmares in a dream journal of sorts.
I'm too lazy to write things down on paper and the nightmares usually only linger for a couple hours or so, and to put that to printed text by hand would take too long and I couldn't write it in the detail that I need to feel like it's done any good for my emotional well-being. So, to satiate my own emotional and mental instability and to give all of you (I say all of you, but highly likely it's only four or so people, tops, who read this) something to, I guess, morbidly enjoy(?), I've decided to make it into a blog that anyone can see. Oh, boy. And it's not like I have crippling anxiety and fear of social pressure or anything. Honestly, the fact that only four people are reading this is the reason that I'm sticking with this method.
So, I'm going to go to post this and head off to sleep tonight. I have the same sleep schedule every night, I finish my extra work at my job at around 10:45 PM, and I go to bed at around 11:30 PM. I wake up around 7:15 the next morning, but varying the sleep pattern doesn't affect the dreams I have, to be honest. Neither does varying my eating habits, increasing my already fairly strenuous exercise regimen, rearranging the way I set my silverware (I don't have any obsessive compulsive disorder, I don't think, but I'm meticulous when I can help it, especially with the layout of my kitchen and dining room). Taking sleeping pills or any sort of localized anesthetic does nothing, either. In the end, the nightmares happen every night whether I like them or not, and the best I can do is write it in a way that you might enjoy it.
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