Imagine your worst recurring nightmare. Now imagine dreaming that while on drugs. My worst nightmare felt like reality. In this unconscious state, I felt immense discontent. I was doing everything in my life that I had never wanted to do. This means some of the most embarrassing, degrading things a human being can do to oneself. Some examples are: living in the sewers while having prostitution for employment and doing all of the really hard drugs, like methamphetamine, rage crack, heroin and scopolamine, while also dating your pimp/drug dealer who is very abusive- both mentally and physically. This situation causes unhappiness, paranoia, low self-esteem, and thoughts of suicide.
Dreams like these cause all sorts of pain and false pleasure. In these dreams I also always feel like I have the Stockholm Syndrome. And there’s nothing you can do to change this or stop this as this is your personal, true Hell. This recurring nightmare was my true hell. And it always seemed so real. Sometimes I thought that when I went to sleep and had this dream, I was really dead, seeing my future after-life, or that I was living another life in my sleep. It always felt so real.
I’ve had this dream since I was 7 years old about... 50 times or so. This was a well-known recurring nightmare to me. It always went the same way.
It starts out with me standing on the same corner every time- on the corner of Smith Avenue and Royall Lane. I’m wearing a skin tight, bright neon pink, pencil skirt, a black halter top with ruffles towards the bottom, a black, strapless bra and a bright neon pink and black g string, with black 3-inch wedges. Every, damn, time.
A car stops in front of me. It’s always the same colored car too; a charcoal gray 2009 Dodge Charger with dark tinted windows. The rims on this car are sick! When I walk towards the car, the driver signals me to get in. I do as he says, though I never see what he looks like. But, I always notice the interior of the car. Black leather seats, the new car smell mixed with a slight hint of marijuana, and it lights up blue and dark red where the speedometer and other gadgets are. I can tell it has a nice speaker system because I can always feel the bass when the music plays. I could never understand what kind of music was playing, but I know it was music.
I never know what comes over me; maybe I know this man too well or maybe he is a regular customer of mine; either way I look into his glove compartment. I always find the same small bag of some kind of white powder along with a small mirror, a razor and a cut straw. As usual, I carefully pour out the contents of the bag onto the mirror and begin to chop it up with the razor. Once finished, I use the straw to snort the drugs.
As I do so, I see myself in the mirror. I am wearing heavy makeup; lots of mascara, eye liner, bright neon pink lipstick, and a little bit of blush. And, as always, right after snorting my given poison, I feel the sting of a needle in my left arm. The driver had stuck me with a needle full of heroin. And I black out.
When I wake up, still in the dream mind you, I am in what looks like a warehouse. There are great big piles of crates surrounding me, almost like a maze since I can never see over them. I’m lying on the floor, still dressed although my clothes are slightly askew. I get up and fix my clothes, and begin to walk through the maze. After wandering around for a while and not finding a way out, my dream skips and I am suddenly inside the sewers, where I live with my pimp.
I walk down the sewers and pass a few people along the way. The thing about these “people” is that not only do they not have faces but they seem to be mutated as well. For example, I passed by a lady with no face, dressed in tattered peasant clothing, and she waves to me. But when she does, her hands seem to have more than five fingers on each. But when I do a double take, her hands are missing. I figure it’s no big deal though since I don’t even know her. Another person I passed was an old man dressed in nothing but a dirty loincloth. When I walk past him, he has three white eyes, and again when I do a double take, his entire face is missing. I’m not sure what this symbolizes, but it always happens, no matter what.
So, I’m walking and walking—
I stop dead in my tracks.
This is no longer the usual recurring nightmare..
-“…..Wh- who’s there…?”-
It occurs to me…. ‘rrrraaaaccchhhheeeeeellll…….’ That someone is saying my name…
“Rachel? Rachel!! Oh my God…RACHEL!!!! OH MMY GODD!! RACHEL! PLEASE WAKE UP, PLEASE WAKE UP!! WHAT’S WRONG? PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE, RACHEL, WAKE UP!!”
[Jake finds Rachel lying on the bathroom floor naked, having a seizure. In a panic, he calls for help. Several minutes later, the ambulance arrives. Rachel is rushed to the hospital. Once there, her stomach is pumped to remove the poison from her body. She falls into a coma for 6 months.]
To be continued...
Sneak Peak of Chapter Five
[This is where things take a turn. This is where things get gruesome and ugly. This is where all innocence is disturbingly removed from all possible thoughts. This is the horrifically detailed description of what happened during the six months that Rachel was in the hospital, in a drug-induced coma. This is the real story.]