Truth is, I have never been more traumatized than a week ago. Waking up in cold sweats is unfortunate. But, last weeks nightmare was no ordinary journey into the abyss. In fact, I’d prefer to undergo the frightening and miserable near-oblivion that is delirium tremens again instead of my nightmare.
It was a Friday… a rather glorious Friday to be specific. Singing abounded. Cool breezes caressed my ruddy cheeks. Massive, snowy mountains surrounded my humble residence. I was no longer failing the Spring semester at UA-Tuscaloosa; instead, I had finalized my failures. Relieved and reinvigorated, I was indeed.
Due to my Mother’s excessive worry and my Father’s consistent silence, I elected to try to quit smoking coffin-accelerants with the assistance of nicotine patches. A week ago, I put the patch on my first patch.
To my surprise, I was not experiencing cravings, or more irritable than any other morning. I danced about the yard. I did not over eat. The patches seemed to have no side effects. Like any sane twenty-tree year old, I decided to celebrate.
I got drunk as fuck as quickly as I could.
I basked in the glory that is alcohol for a few hours. To elaborate, I did what any drunken, lonely man my age should do: sang songs, wrote poetry, read literature. As the tilt-a-whirl express began to embrace my consciousness whilst simultaneously disorienting my equilibrium, I began to doze off. Before I began to snore, I let out a magnificent breath and smiled myself to sleep.
Next out of fucking nowhere, I am subsumed by shrill, vicious tar monsters. The sheer amount of fear those inter dimensional demons instilled puts the moments of sheer terror during acid into the category of bummers.
As what seemed like eternal damnation continued to never cease, I began living out my living in a way I never had before. The fresh perspective was unfamiliar. It was ghost-like. It was ghastly. Sensing everything that could have been through the minds of everyone I currently miss or once knew, the sheer amount of loathing and disgust expresses about my character was like a scimitar to soul.
Then, I saw myself in a karmic mirror with skin as permanently damaged as my lungs. I began shedding tears of tar. Far from lucid, entirely wanting to die, the scene transformed into me playing ping pong with my former smoking buddy, who hasn’t spoken to me in six months. I was so relieved my laud a lord in whom I do no believe in was sky bound.
In a characteristic dream like fashion, there was a vicissitude that shattered my psyche to smithereens. I’d rather my ten year child friend move away all over again. My ping pong pal transformed into the ghost of my dying older brother who said loudly and clearly, “Everything you just saw was me. It was an experience of all you would have known about me if you weren’t off killing yourself twenty times a day.” It should be stated here that my brother is not dying in real life.
As the dream was clearly ending, I saw my old mathematics professor twirling a strange, infinite lemniscate. He bluntly stated, “Best of luck with your mid-life crisis kid. This was only a dream. It’s the rest of your life that is the nightmare.” Finally, I awoke coated in sweat with tears in my bloodshot eyes.