If death were really just a falling into a state of permanent sleep, then despite what Hamlet says, I don't think I would like it at all. I've always had a bit of an off kilter waking life, but my dreaming life has always been very strange. I rarely remember my dreams, but once in a while I get really vivid dreams that are full of color and sound and even taste, but usually I have really, really emotional dreams. It's always been that way. When other kids were dreaming about boogie men under their bed and waking up to the relief of knowing that there is no boogie man under their bed, that all their parents have to do to console them is to allow them to climb into their beds and fall asleep in the security of the little nook that is created between the bodies of Mom and Dad, I had terribly emotional dreams that I would wake up crying hysterically from that, no matter what anyone said to me that day, left me feeling a little bit emptier inside.
To this date I don't remember ever having a nightmare, or a flying dream, or a running away dream, or any of those "normal dreams". I do remember a dream about getting killed, about being left in a ditch that I couldn't climb out of, I've attended numerous funerals - some people I knew, but mostly people I didn't, and this morning I woke up from a dream in which I was being choked to death in front of a group of people I knew and no matter how much I yelled, no one would help me. That, I think, is the reoccurring theme in all of these dreams; I am always helpless to control the circumstances, and abandoned. I don't know where those feelings come from, as I've never been abandoned or even necessarily cared whether I was left alone or not, but apparently I do in my dreams. The feeling of helplessness is also an interesting presence to me, because truthfully, I rarely actually feel helpless. In fact, I was just telling Alex that I probably feel as though I have more control than I actually do. I have trouble falling asleep if Alex isn't home and he's supposed to be coming home that night, not because I feel vulnerable, but because I'm afraid that something will happen to Alex and I won't be "ready" for it; as if my being awake would have any effect on the fate of my loved ones. It makes absolutely no sense, but I've always been that way. I've never been able to sleep when my parents weren't coming home, and I would always feel a little bit nervous until they came home. Even as a child, I would start to get incredibly nervous and scared if my parents came home even an half hour later than usual; standing outside, pacing back at forth all at the age of 6.
It's strange how we have these strange little tendencies and nuances that we are born with, that control who we are despite our efforts to deny them from defining who we are. I try so hard not to be a worrier, to be a reasonable person who understands that the things that I worry about are usually, completely out of my control, and I'm not helping anyone out by being a worrying mess, yet I can't help it. It's just who I am, and try as I might to repress it, this tendency rears it's ugly head at me through my dreaming life and leaves me feeling empty until I go to bed again.
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