Battered Tales of a Nutcase

Look at me

Dreams: A series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep.

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Notes from Hell 8

Maybe taking drugs to sleep wasn't the best idea but at the time, what else was I suppose to do? My mind raced with different images that I could never understand unless I stepped into a world unlike any other.

One pill.

At first that's all it took. One pill and I would be out cold. Running through forest, swimming in the deepest waters, picking the most perfect flower from a field of millions. They were simple dreams back then. Sometimes I wish all the dreams were that simple again. It would be a relief to breathe in the salty air and feel the grass tickle my feet. Those days left long ago, and I still miss them like an old friend.

Two pills.

I can't remember the first time I took two instead of one. It could have been not even a week later or it could have been a year. Time doesn't have meaning to me anymore for it doesn't exist in the stars of my mind. These dreams would wake me every now and then. Sitting straight up with sweat dripping down my brow. I'd shake the nightmare away then rest my head back against the soaking pillow, which would bother me so that within minutes it would be thrown at a white wall.

Three pills.

Now these dreams, these dreams were works of art. They would play in episodes, so vivid and fresh. I was a writer in one, writing works so grand that not even Jane Austen or William Shakespeare could compare. I was loved and praised for my skill. Details don't linger in these dreams though. Mostly I can only remember little parts that in the end don't make any sense. That's one of the great mysteries. How can I see all these incredible things, yet in the morn, they have left my mind to go to another's?

Four pills.

I hated the four pills. Whatever parts I had remembered after three, well those were completely gone with four. I refused to take more that three after waking up screaming every night, only remembering a face that would appear on the insides of my eyelids. I can't say who the man was but he look so familiar. I don't see how it was possible that I knew him. Dreams are fake. Maybe I was crazy after all.

~

The nurse read the first page she opened to from the battered, red journal that stuck out from under a lumpy bed. She knew she shouldn't read it but its was all too tempting for her small mind. She flipped to the front and began reading a story that scared her soul.

~

Notes from Hell 1

My parents stopped by today. Isn't that nice? Came to see their nut case daughter they sent away. How thoughtful. They didn't stay long, thankfully. Mother cried at the sight of me. Father was rigid as ever. My siblings didn't come, not that I blame them. It must be hard on them at school with everyone talking about my being sent away because I'm crazy. I'm really not though. At least not in the definition of crazy. I just have odd thoughts. But not everyone shares my idea of not being crazy. Its not like I killed anyone or tried to hurt myself. I simply wrote stories of different lands that I saw in my dreams. To the world, though, I need help. I say they can all go to Hell. I'm already there...

~

The nurse jumped as someone knocked on the door. “What's that?” Another nurse walked in, sucking a red sucker that painted her lips. “Patient's journal.” She answered like it was no big deal that she was breaking a dozen rules. “The nut case they just took downstairs?” She nodded. “Oh, let me see!” The sat on the bed, making it groan with their weight.