Saturday, August 18, 2012

Nightmares and Hallucinations

Photo credit: ©Alexey Lisovoy |

It’s no secret that I’m stressed, exhausted, overwhelmed, etc. It’s also no secret that I sometimes medicate to sleep. Last night, after the Greek festival wherein I burst into tears over the thought of becoming a stay-at-home-mom to the ridiculously more-difficult-than usual tantrum-y L.E., I took ½ of a Klonopin. Then when I realized I was crampy and bloated, I took some homeopathic PMS tabs that supposedly have no drug interactions.
What happens next is what I can best describe as tripping balls.
I’ve never done LSD before and my single foray into mushrooms ended up with me puking all night after watching James and the Giant Peach. So this was all pretty unexpected.
I woke up scared. I wanted to call Margie but my phone was in the dining room. Of Margie’s house, where I am staying. So my plan was to go and get her. The first time I tried to get her, a man was standing in the hallway with a gun. A big gun. The second time I tried, there was a pack of coyote/wolf hybrids in the hall. Like the big Twilight wolves who spoke to each other, only it wasn’t funny this time. The third try, the blankets tried to strangle me. The fourth time, I finally realized what was going on and I had a blaring headache. I succeeded in getting out of bed and got some ibuprofen.
Mind you L.E. is sleeping in the same room the whole time this is happening so there was a big challenge to make sure she didn’t wake up. “Mommy is having violent hallucinations,” is not something you should have to explain to your child. Ever.
So I gave up on getting help from Margie but I’m pretty sure I imagined going into her room a few times but the layout was all different every time.
I fell back asleep and that’s when the nightmares really started.
We were enslaved in some sort of cult/government bunker where all of my female friends were pregnant despite the absence of our older children. Cutesy birth announcements were projected on the walls. And the name choices were awful; I highly doubt my one friend would name her child Primet but whatever. Next thing I knew, it was time for me to give birth, which I did in about 3 seconds and it didn’t hurt. It was a boy and I can’t remember what we named him. Ben? He had blonde hair and blue eyes and nobody even thought twice about the fact that I had just had a VBAC while standing in a hallway.
Woke up again, fell back asleep.
Still enslaved in the same bunker but I’m part of a rebel team who is about to take over with the help of some Japanese friends, including my BFF. It involved product merchandising. Well, that was the distraction while I climbed on the roof of the bunker with the other snipers to shoot the enemy. We were successful with me getting the main killshot. We celebrated with the Japanese distraction team only they decided to turn against us and I ended up running away from a flying Hummer that was shooting at me.
Woke up again, fell back asleep.
This next part can be best described as a detailed backstory for the whole rebel take over. Some of it involved slot machine design. Don’t ask.
Woke up again, fell back asleep.
Finally, Dr. T. shows up in these nightmares. To tell me that he’s leaving to take Spanish lessons and it’s up to me to either keep L.E. or figure out a way to get her to where he’ll be studying 10 hours away every weekend. He was so cruel in saying that he still wanted to be part of L.E.’s life but only if it was convenient for him. He also wanted nothing to do with me so I would have to hire a driver to get L.E. to him.
Woke up again, fell back asleep.
Last one. We’re living in a seedy motel but I drove a brand-new convertible which gets stolen in a grocery store parking lot. 911 doesn’t pick up and my dad isn’t around to help. I track down Dr. T. in an alley but he has delved so far down into homelessness and drug addiction that he is of no help. He can’t even find L.E.’s bathing suit in his hobo-bag. Worst of all, he’s still insisting that he’s leaving L.E. and me and we’re on our own without him. I got dumped by a drug-addicted hobo of a husband who I’ve been married to for 12 years.
I’m pretty sure he stole and sold the car for drugs, too.
Nightmares suck.
So that sums up the most terrifying night of my life. But at least there were no zombies.
I’m pretty sure the cult/enslavement parts are smaller parts to the bigger story I’m working on for my novel. At least now I know what to do for inspiration.
There are other little things here and there. At one point I texted T and asked him what to do. He never got back to me till this morning. Also, my Google history reads: “Homeopathic PMS medicine interaction;” “Klonopin hallucinations;” “PMS Klonopin side effects;” “Pharmacies in Canada;” (what good would they do?) and “La Qunita Inn El Paso” so I could try to find T in El Paso.
Usually my foray into drug experimentation/accidental consumption end up with some kind of moral or lesson. I know I never want to experience pain like that before whether conscious or not. And I obviously still have unresolved issues with my family since they were less than helpful every time they showed up.
My BFF can put on a hell of a distraction fashion show while I’m snipering on the roof.
And purple isn’t a bad color for our government/enslavement camp attire. They kinda looked like Renown scrubs.
So in summary: drugs are bad. Even RX drugs can mess with you if you already have a good base-layer of crazy going on.
Or else my novel just got that much more super-awesome and amazing…

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