I love this picture for its depiction of sleep paralysis brought on by a demon, in a time when such a unique but prevalent condition was misinterpreted as fiendish interference.
I am awake but paralyzed, I hate these dreams, but I am at least pretty sure that whats happening isn’t real. That being said it is terrifying when you hear your toilet flush and your bathroom door open and you know nobody but you should be in your apartment.
I couldn’t get up, and I was beginning to fall into a panic. Real sweat was forming on my brow, and the thing, whatever it was, had not yet presented itself as a dream. Then, I heard him cough, and saw a shadow walk into my living room. A metal squeak indicated that he had flopped down onto my futon. I breathed in a sigh of relief and letting it out, I was fully awake. I wiggled my fingers, then got my limbs moving and walked into my living room to find it empty.
To be quite honest, dreams like these make me miss being with someone. They remind me that I am alone. Most of the time, I am empowered by the oneness I have found within myself. I am free to create, to focus on my painting, my writing, my constant quest for learning; being solitary puts everything into a clear, easily manageable perspective from which I am constantly able to glean new self-awareness and grow at exponential rates. That being said, I feel so vulnerable at times, not necessarily physically, though this dream brings that shocking reality into bright, shiny, center stage, but emotionally, being solely dependent on yourself can stretch a person unrecognizably thin. I feel like the popular children’s book The Mitten, a warped bit of useless fabric devoid of its true purpose. Sometimes I wonder if I could become so threadbare that I lose entirely the purpose for which I was originally designed, to keep the secret warmth of another.