So I’m sort of new here; I don’t really use social media that much, even online forums. I’ve been going to therapy but (as sweet as she is) my therapist just doesn’t understand. So I’m posting here, just to get this off my chest.
I had the first dream when I was only five years old.
I was inside an indoor waterpark. It wasn’t a fun, exciting one. It was more like… a gigantic storage room. With a ceiling that reached the sky. I don’t remember the exact details, but I remember some things very vividly- specifically the pale, sickly yellow PVC and the pea-green tiled floor. The pool was deep, some 50 meters or so. I was sitting on the edge, looking up at the top of the slide, watching the water spill out- it was an awful, muddy brown that smelled like chlorinated rust.
It’s all normal, just… uncomfortable, and deeply unsettling, but it’s not quite… nightmarish. Just yet. As I sit on the edge of the pool, I start to feel lightheaded. Dizzy. Something in the water starts churning, like the visual embodiment of nausea, and I start to slip into the water. I am completely powerless to stop it at this point. Dust and asbestos from the ceiling falls and broken-tile fiberglass shards scratch my shins as I am pulled down to the bottom and held there by the weight of the water. I can feel the room crumble. My chest tightens; I can’t breathe; my lungs burn. My vision clouds. I am covered with sediment.
I half-wake, but the sleep paralysis that comes after isn’t much of a relief. I lay in bed and watch the room spin for what seems like forever until something- I don’t know what, or how- escapes my chest. The burning in my lungs finally leaves. I am left with dry, sore eyes and the taste of iron in my mouth.
My name is Whitney. I’m twenty now, and still the nightmares haven’t stopped. I guess they’re… not really nightmares. They’re more like lucid dreams. I can smell and feel everything vividly- but I can’t do some things that you normally can in a lucid dream. I can’t change the dream. I can’t switch the scene or pull certain objects out of thin air. But I’m always fully aware that I’m in one- I’m never under the impression that it’s real. I just can’t escape it.
I’ve been going to therapy for the dreams for a while. I’ve been diagnosed with a type of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, because I’ve made a habit of washing my mouth with dish soap twice each morning to get rid of the metal taste, but I’ve never felt like OCD what actually describes what I’ve got going on. It’s true that I’m a huge germaphobe and hypochondriac. I’ve always been like that. But the thing I have… whatever it is that causes the dreams. I think it’s a phobia of some sort. I can’t go to public or private pools. Anything tiled makes my hands go clammy- bathtubs, floors. The smell of chlorine makes me vomit. That’s not OCD. I’m at least fairly sure it’s not.
But just recently, something… happened. I have to tell someone because it’s been on my mind for so long and I’m sick of just ruminating. So here goes.
Last Saturday, I got a call from my best friend, Lauren. So- Lauren’s the kind of girl who doesn’t really stay in communication with people outside of school, so you can see why I was caught kind of off guard. Of course, we’re close. We just have the sort of relationship that stands on its own, without having to really… hang out that much. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
“Wanna hang out?” She asked.
“Yeah, sounds like fun. What did you have in mind?”
I guess she thought the movie theater would be a good opportunity to catch me off guard, because when the movie was over and we were touching up our makeup in the bathroom (the floor of which is conveniently smooth. Reliable. Comforting. My favorite public bathroom of all time.) she brought up that she had found a date for the evening. A guy named Mack, who was apparently a guitarist and majorly into her. I congratulated her, but then she stopped me.
“It’s not just a date. It’s kind of like, uh… he has a friend.”
“A double date?!” I asked, skeptically.
“Jeez, it’s not that big of a deal. You don’t have to if you don’t want. I just don’t want the other guy- Peter- to like, third wheel or something. It’d be awkward.”
I stood there for a second, thinking. I cracked my neck.
“Yeah, you know what? Why not. Do either of them have a license?” I asked.
“Yeah, my guy does. Mack. He and Peter are picking you up first, since you live closer. If that’s ok?”
“Yeah, sounds fine.” I have to admit, I was a little giddy. It had been a good while since I’d been on a date. Like, a 5 year while.
The rest of the day went as you would expect. We got ice cream after the movie, went our separate ways, and I immediately took some Benadryl to sleep (Which I do not recommend, by the way. It’s sort of the only way I can avoid the nightmares, but it doesn’t come without side effects. Brain fog is intense). When I woke up in a clammy sweat three hours later, it was already 6:30 in the evening. Thankfully, I’d taken a short enough nap that I’d avoided the sleep paralysis, but I still felt an unbearable dryness in my eyes and mouth, like someone had poured rubbing alcohol on my face in my sleep. I let out a groan and stumbled into the bathroom.
“Dammit, Whit, why’d you agree to this date thing?” I said to myself in the mirror. My hair was already matted, and my eyes were puffy and red. I spat in the sink - pink. The inside of my cheek was raw.
I spent a while getting ready- scrubbing the foul taste from my mouth, putting eyedrops in, taking some painkillers to help with the throbbing headache. And a couple hours later, I heard a honk. I stepped outside into the driveway, and was blinded by a black Chevy Malibu and two figures standing beside it- they were making out. Lauren and Mack.
“Here, let me get that for you.” The boy in the passenger seat - Peter - stepped out of the car and opened the left rear door for me. “Thank you.” He was tall, with ginger hair and bright green eyes. I stood awkwardly in the driveway for a moment, then decided to go down and introduce myself.
“Hey, I’m Whitney.”
“Peter. Nice to meet you,” he smirked. I smiled a little back.
That little, insignificant interaction is the last thing I remember about that night. The rest is a complete blur- I don’t remember where we went, or what I ate, or how I got home that night. But strangely enough, when I woke up in the morning, I felt… amazing.
I felt great. Normal, actually, but not… me normal, like, normal normal. I went to the bathroom to take my usual sponge bath and I wasn’t repulsed by the water. In fact, so much so, that for the first time in fifteen years, I took an actual shower. And it was… incredible.
Everything was clearer. My vision, my sense of smell, even my persistent headache was gone. I donned a bathrobe- one that I’d never worn before, brand new, and still plush- and sat in front of the TV. I flicked on the news, only half-absorbing it.
Something about a building collapse. Or… no. A public pool. No. An indoor water park. I read the headline.
One Dead, Three Injured in Building Collapse.
Chills went down my spine. I lean in. Two men stood in the corner, talking to police. A girl was lying on the floor, crying, and being comforted by medics. I recognized her.
From out of the rubble, the EMTs pulled another body onto a stretcher. A girl. Her skin was shriveled and pale, her hair stringy and reed-like. She had drowned.
It took a few seconds for the realization to settle in. The girl’s face was obscured by her hair, and most of her body was too, by a white sheet. But I could see her eyes. Still open, and glossed over. Her scleras were fried red, blood vessels still bulging and pupils shot.
It was me. I was lying on that stretcher, cold and blue and dead.
I still don’t really understand it at all. I haven’t been able to reach Lauren or any of her family since that night, or the boys we went out with. I hope they’re all okay. I hope Lauren is safe. Nothing has made sense since this happened. My nightmares are completely gone, and I’ve been feeling… honestly, amazing. But I can’t shake the feeling that something horrible has happened and that I only know part of the story.
The girl on the stretcher… no, that couldn’t have been me. Of course not.
Of course not.