I know why it’s called sickness; it’s an actual disease. I feel it in my bones; it eats away my strength and leaves my limbs feeling limp. I feel it in my heart; it makes it miss every other beat and makes my chest feel empty. It deteriorates my state of mind, making it a negative place I try to escape by working too hard and driving myself to exhaustion.
I didn’t think I had home until I left it. I have never treasured the spaces I slept in, the pathways I took on a daily basis, the language I’ve heard and spoke even in my dreams.
I’m glad, however, that leaving home forced me to discover myself; once something tries to pull you away from your true identity, even if you don’t quite know it yourself, you almost subconsciously hold onto it and it always tries to bring you back where you belong. I dream of places where I belong, I dream of people I belong with and all of this is anywhere but here and God knows it hurts.
An old rusted window rested on top of a brick. Wooden frames of the window were cracked in so many places it seemed like they had vessels that could start bleeding at any moment. The glass inserted into the frames danced in its place every time someone was walking up the stairs, which made loud croaking noises after every step taken, as if someone was walking on frogs. I was making my way up the stairs into a room, which was not occupied but someone inside refused to let me in.
I was going through this one folder on my laptop – ‘Writings’ – where I store all of my little and often ridiculous spontaneous texts. There was another folder within that one called ‘Dreams’ and I found a couple of dreams I’ve had and it was an amusing read, I must admit.
The funny thing about dreams is, after you wake up and try to comprehend what was going on in your head, everything is so clear and everything makes so much sense. Once you quickly write the dream down, it still makes sense. Now, I’ve read about a dream I’ve had about a month ago and I had no recollection of it in my mind whatsoever. I was reading it and thinking ‘did I actually ever have a dream like this??’ Weird stuff. Anyway, here’s a disturbing dream…
I remember the tide coming in onto the shore. The sand was a lovely shade of beige, kissed by the sun, yet I cannot tell whether it was a sunrise or a sunset. My friends were little figurines, like in some sort of a game, it was all very strange, yet seemed perfectly normal in that stage of a dream. I controlled the game, but I don’t know what the rules were or what the game itself was. I remember deep in my unconscious imagining myself kissing my best friend and it felt so real. I suppose my sexual drive is somewhat high, as it is per usual; that is no secret to me. I remember being in a nostalgia shop and picking up this booklet in which was a CD with a soundtrack from Bram Stoker’s Dracula – I started listening to it, as the booklet turned out to be a CD player as well; oh, I wish such things existed in real life. I was reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula before falling asleep, which explains this fascinating detail in my dream. My mum did not let me purchase the CD, which did upset me greatly, yet the location in a dream turned into our home, where I was listening to the soundtrack and humming along with it, whilst making little bunches of flowers – miniature ones, and showing them to my mum, who I do not know if was fascinated by or completely bored of my creativity. I woke up feeling very confused; there was still a hint of the music from the dream somewhere in the background – very faint, but somewhat real. I heard my mum sipping her coffee in the living room and there was a quiet sound of something playing on TV. When I finally sat up, trying to wake myself up completely, all the sounds started fading and the rooms were filled with silence and a soft snore of my mum who was peacefully asleep as well.
She was walking down the wavy path, not knowing what is going to wait for her around each corner. ‘That’s why the curves of landscape are so beautiful’ she thought, ‘you never know what comes next’. The bright sun rays shone onto her, making the bronze of her hair shimmer. The warmth gave her cheeks a rosy shade of pink. Her breath became heavier as she started making her way up a hill. As the road started curving to the right, she saw something on the left side of it. There was an old inn – ‘The Greyhound’ it was called. Even though it was old, it was taken care of rather well. The golden patterns of the big letters and sides of the lamps that probably emphasised the letters at night looked almost as if they were polished. There were large baskets hanging down from the hooks fixed at random parts of the façade, filled with various flowers; yellow, white and purple violets, lantanas with colourful clusters of pink and yellow and red, the blue lobelia plants as well as bright orange begonias. She stood there for a moment, observing the inn quietly. It was like a small shelter, blooming in the middle of dense greenery of trees and bushes. It was a place where one would come to look for safety. She raised eyebrow at such thought; this whole land seemed to be the safest place her eyes have ever witnessed. She started making her way forward and walked to the left of the inn where the road started going further up. The road was almost enclosed by the trees that arched over it from both sides. The sunlight that made its way through the branches and the leaves created patterns on the dark surface of the road, which almost made it look like a shadow play. There were sounds of birds singing with their high voices, flies buzzing as they were dancing in circles in spots of sunlight and somewhere in the distance, she could hear faint music. She kept walking upwards, with her breath deepening as she made each careful step, until she reached the top of the hill, where the road stretched forward. She stopped there for a moment, to catch her breath and made her way further and deeper into the woods.