Photo by Gabrielle Henderson on Unsplash
I haven’t slept in 39 days. I am losing it. Every time I close my eyes, I get overwhelmed with fear and anxiety. My eyes are always blood-shot and have become shadows, my cheeks hollow and my body weak, always being weighed down by a distinct heavy pressure on my chest. The life of an insomniac is the worst, I’ll tell you. There’s never a new day, a new start. There is no yesterday and there is no today. It’s always the same endless purgatory and I have gotten used to it. As the days blurred together, I found solace in the flickering light of the television. The news became my anchor, a tenuous connection to the passing of time. Reality and fiction melded into a surreal tapestry, leaving me questioning the boundaries between the two.
During the time I used to sleep, I kept getting these recurring dreams. They were so vivid; I always woke up sweating with a heavy feeling in my chest. The dream always consisted of the same people, the same village, and the same events. It would start with me going to an unknown deserted village. I wander around the village, passing the same trees and destroyed houses until I see a young girl walking with an ominous aura around her. I find myself following her through the narrow, winding paths of the village. The air becomes thick with an unsettling tension as the girl leads me to the heart of the desolate settlement.
In the dream, the village appears frozen in time, as if trapped in a perpetual state of decay. The houses, though crumbling, echo with a haunting silence. As I follow the mysterious girl, the atmosphere grows increasingly oppressive, and the weight on my chest intensifies.
The girl, who never speaks, glances back at me with eyes that seem to hold the weight of ages. Her presence feels both ethereal and foreboding. The dream unfolds with a sense of inevitability, as if I am being drawn into a narrative beyond my control. Eventually, she leads me to the only well in the village. She stops, and her gaze fixes upon the well and jumps inside it, drowning. The dream's intensity reaches its peak, and the heavy pressure on my chest becomes almost unbearable. Suddenly, the dream shifts and I find myself standing at the edge of the well, staring into its dark abyss. The echoes of the village and the girl's presence linger, intertwining with a sense of impending doom. As I peer into the well, a surreal connection forms between me and the mysterious girl, as if I share a
destiny that transcends the boundaries of the dream.
Every night, the dream repeats itself with unwavering consistency, leaving me with a sense of urgency and confusion upon waking. The vividness of the dream blurs the lines between sleep and wakefulness, and the weight on my chest persists even during my moments of fleeting rest.
These dreams ruined my life. It made me quit my job and made me socially unapproachable. I stopped contacting my family and friends. I stopped sleeping altogether as I couldn’t get myself to relive these dreams. In my isolated state, the persistent dreams and the unending insomnia has taken a toll on my mental well-being. My friend tried reaching out but I ignored most of her calls and messages. She suggested me to see a psychiatrist and gave me a number. However, scepticism and mistrust toward psychiatrists prevented me from considering the option.
As the days pass, the weight on my chest intensifies, and the line between my waking reality and the recurring dreams becomes increasingly blurred. The isolation deepens, and the once-familiar world starts to feel like an alien landscape. One day, feeling particularly overwhelmed, I decided to give my friend's suggestion a second thought. I dial the psychiatrist's number, half-expecting disappointment or a sense of betrayal. The voice on the other end is calm and professional, offering an appointment to discuss my experiences and concerns.
Reluctantly, I agree to the meeting. As I enter the psychiatrist's office, the walls adorned with degrees and certifications, my scepticism remained intact. The psychiatrist, however, listens attentively, creating a space for me to share the weight that has been burdening me for so long.
Through thoughtful questions and genuine interest, the psychiatrist begins unravelling the layers of my experiences, both in waking life and in the vivid dreams that have haunted my sleep. Rather than imposing judgments, the psychiatrist offers a perspective grounded in empathy and understanding.
Over time, I find yourself opening up to the possibility of healing and self-discovery. The psychiatrist becomes a guide in navigating the complex landscape of my mind, helping me develop coping mechanisms for both the sleepless nights and the waking challenges.
Slowly, I reconnect with my friend, expressing gratitude for her persistent concern and ask her if we should visit the village in my dream to make sure it’s not real. As the walls of scepticism crumble, I realize that seeking assistance was not a sign of weakness, but a courageous step toward reclaiming a sense of peace and normalcy in my life.
We decided to visit the village the next morning. Next morning, we boarded the early morning bus, which rumbled along the winding roads, carrying us toward Eranguard, the mysterious village from my recurring dreams. As the landscape unfolded outside the window, I grappled with a mix of anticipation and disbelief. I reassured yourselves that dreams couldn't be real, yet the eerie familiarity with the surroundings left us both in a state of bewilderment.
Upon arriving, the village seemed to mirror the dream in uncanny detail—narrow, winding paths, aged trees. However, there was a stark contrast: the houses were not in a state of decay but stood proudly, maintaining their integrity. My friend, initially sceptical, now shared my sense of astonishment. The air held a different energy than the one I experienced in the dreams. The atmosphere was not laden with the oppressive tension, and there was no ominous aura surrounding the surroundings, until I found the same young girl in my dreams. With an uneasy feeling in my heart, I began following her. My friend repeatedly told me not to but I somehow was dragged by her aura. I followed her to the central square which revealed itself as the focal point of the village, just as in my dreams. The ancient well stood at the centre, and I couldn't help but feel a strange connection between the reality before me and the dreams that had haunted my sleep. The air around the ancient well seemed to thicken as the girl, just as in my recurring dream, came to a stop. A chilling sense of déjà vu enveloped me, intensifying the feeling of impending doom. Overwhelmed by fear, I couldn't bear the thought of what might unfold next. Unable to contain my anxiety, I shouted at the girl, desperately urging her to stay away from the well. My words hung in the air, heavy with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The girl, however, paid no heed to my warning, continuing to mutter something under her breath. The eerie silence of the village accentuated the mysterious atmosphere. I went near her, trying not to startle her. Each step I took felt like a journey into the unknown, the weight on my chest intensifying with each passing moment.
My friend, compelled by curiosity or perhaps a desire to comfort the girl, reached out to touch her shoulder. In that instant, the girl, as if awakening from a trance, turned toward both of us. Her eyes locked onto mine, and an uncomfortable silence descended upon the square. Seconds stretched into eternity, and just when I thought the tension would break, the girl's face contorted into an expression of pure terror. Without warning, she let out a piercing scream that echoed through the village, resonating with the walls of my consciousness. The scream reverberated, sending shivers down my spine. It felt as if the very fabric of reality was unravelling. Villagers emerged from their houses, drawn by the sudden disturbance. The once-tranquil atmosphere of Eranguard had transformed into a chaotic scene, fuelled by confusion and fear.
As the echoes of the scream subsided, the girl's eyes remained fixed on mine when she jumped inside the well, eventually drowning. The weight on my chest reached its peak, and I was left grappling with the unsettling realization that the dreams that haunted my nights were intricately woven into the fabric of this mysterious village, intertwining the boundaries between sleep and wakefulness in ways I never thought possible.