Anxiety Dreams

Have you ever heard that old superstition that if you dream the same thing three times you’ll die?

I am sure that’s not true, I’ve been having the same dreams for years and yet here I am. I know they are dreams now, at some point part of me will wake up and flag a warning, hey we’ve been here before. Time to wake up.

Doors not locking, running from zombies, running from life sucking ghosts, not being able to run. Teeth falling out, being back at school, being naked back at school - I guess all the usual features of an unquiet night.

So when I saw my tooth drop out into the sink I wasn’t too worried. I was half way to work before I decided I probably wasn’t dreaming. I ran my tongue along the line of my teeth, no gaps, everything present and accounted for.

I squinted down at my phone and tried to put it out of my mind. I flicked through my calendar, meet Jim for drinks, reschedule opticians appointment, I moved my phone closer to my eyes to read the next bit, ‘you’re going to die’. I started back in shock and then looked at my phone again, dreading what it might say ‘cleaner coming Tuesday’ read the now innocuous line.

What was happening? I tried to subtly pinch myself, but desisted once I noticed the other commuters were looking at me. 

The rest of the day seemed normal enough except that my eyes were red and sore from my constant pawing at them. As if wiping away a little sleep might make me believe in them.

That night I dreamt my eyes dropped out of my head and I was crawling around in the dark. I woke up in a sweat but, hey at least it was a new dream. I guess my subconscious was getting tired of the old terrors.

I strained my eyes, trying to see across the dark room. Well, if nothing else they were definitely in my head.

I kept myself very busy over the next few days in an attempt to distract myself from the fact I was losing my mind. I kept seeing flashes of strange dead features that, when I looked again turned into perfectly normal people. On Wednesday I had a fleeting but convincing vision in which it was raining blood. I screamed and dropped my umbrella, a woman passing by turned her face towards me. I felt myself blushing as I mumbled something about a pigeon and hurried off.

On Wednesday night I dreamt I was back in school staring at a blackboard full of complicated squiggles. The more I attempted to decipher them the more they collapsed into nonsense. 

By Thursday I was in desperate need of a drink. Throughout the day I toyed with the idea of telling Jim. I played out the conversation over and over in my mind.

‘Jim, have you ever seen something you couldn’t explain?’ 

‘Jim, have you ever had a dream that cane true?

‘Jim, do I seem like I’m going mad?’

When I walked into the bar about 6pm I was confronted by a row of desks. My old teacher Mrs Rushworth looked up at me with that familiar faintly annoyed expression. 

I slammed the door shut and walked around the corner. I took several deep breaths, pushing my hands back against the brick wall in an attempt to ground myself in reality. 

Jim came out a minute later. 

‘Are you alright mate? I saw you at the door, why didn’t you come in? You look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost’

I told him I wasn’t feeling well which he accepted. Obviously I looked sick. He walked me back to the tube station and made sure I got on the right train. 

‘Take care’

He yelled at me above the bleeping of the closing doors.

That night I didn’t sleep. I drank three cups of coffee and tried to read. The words swum in front of my eyes so I switched to an audio book. 

I arrived at the opticians appointment half dead. I felt jittery, I didn’t know what a panic attack felt like but I thought I was probably about to find out. Getting the bus over I kept my eyes firmly on the floor. Nothing to see here, nothing to see here. I repeated quietly to myself. People moved away from me. That’s when you know you’ve really lost it, when people start moving away from you on a London bus. People will sit next to the guy blaring music from his phone, the woman drinking G&T from a can at 8am but apparently constant talking to yourself will guarantee you some personal space.

The optician shook my hand with a friendly smile as I shambled in. Clearly he didn’t scare so easy. 

‘Mr Marrak, sit down, sit down. It’s been a little while since we last saw you’

‘I’ve been a little busy losing my damn mind’ was what I didn’t say but would like to have.

Instead there was a pause that went on for a beat too long. Until he filled it with,

‘Well if you’d like to start by reading the letters off the board’

Resignedly I put my chin in the dippy little machine and squinted. The letters were remarkably legible for once and I was relieved. At least something was going right today. 

After that the optician asked me to read a paragraph, it was a passage from Jose Saramago. Weirdly I’d read the same book quite recently.

He stopped me after a couple of lines and tapped his chin thoughtfully.

‘Mr Marrak have you been seeing anything unusual recently?’

My heart raced, I stalled to give myself a second to think ‘what do you mean?’

‘Have you been experiencing hallucinations?’

I couldn’t bring myself to say it ‘yes’ but I think he could tell from my face.

‘I have some news for you. Both good and bad. I’m afraid your vision has decreased substantially since the last time we saw you. When that happens suddenly some times our brains try to compensate. If your mind can’t work out what our eyes are seeing it can ‘fill in the blanks’ if you will. You’re not going mad Mr Marrak. But you are going blind.’

‘Oh’ I said blankly.

‘Oh’ I felt as if the bottom had dropped out of my stomach. Of course I knew it would happen but so soon. Tears pooled in the corners of my poor useless eyes.