"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." - Oscar Wilde
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"Sure, Jan, " I quip, glancing at my therapist before continuing, "because after all this time, I wouldn't know what a daydream feels like." I cross my arms and lean back, trying to create as much space between us as possible.
I always knew when I was dreaming. My body starts to feel anchored, and my eyes, usually fixated on a specific spot, would unfocus as my mind drifts away. The fantasies weren't like that. The visions came and went without warning, leading me to believe they were not simple daydreams. I could be with friends, mind in the present moment, and then a brief montage of peculiar moments flitter before my eyes. Every time, I'm left with a sense of Deja Vu and feelings of nostalgia.
"Morana?" Janet's voice cut through my thoughts. Instinctually, I turn to look at her. She sighs, crossing her arms over her iPad while leaning forward, her dark eyes boring into my soul. "To be frank...I'm actually quite surprised you even have a sense of reality, let alone are as high functioning as you are."
I bite my tongue, letting her words rattle around my mind. She is right; I spend a good majority of my time with my head in the clouds, my imagination taking me anywhere and everywhere. Adventure, romance, lives that were much more exciting than my own. A case of maladaptive daydreaming. A coping mechanism I took great comfort in at times when my family and the bullies in reality became too much. Instead of facing her, I turn, letting my gaze fall on the building across the street.
A man stands in the opposing building, our eyes meeting. My skin tingles with spreading goosebumps as I take him in. Despite the apparent light in the room he stood in, his entire body was mostly hidden by shadows, except his eyes. A captivating blue. There was something about his vague form that triggers both my fight or flight instincts and manages to conjure many emotions I couldn't quite name. For a brief moment, I'm brought back to an otherworldly tropical beach, the voice from my dreams calling a name that was not my own. A name I've only heard in my dreams.
'Impossible! He's not real.'
Blinking, I tilt my head slightly, now peering into a dark, empty room. My eyebrows pull together slightly, the confusion bubbling. I'm positive I had seen someone.
"The fact that you have managed to stay grounded and can see things with clarity at all is impressive. The daydreams surely would have made anyone else lose touch with the world, turning them into a menace," Janet's voice shifts subtly, her tone darkening while remaining almost cheerful. "In fact, I would not be surprised if the frequency and possibly the subject matter of these dreams and flashes would have been enough to drive one to suicide."
Shivers run down my spine at her words, not quite liking her tone. Her voice made the words sound sinister. Janet's inky black hair is held back in a sleek, headache-inducing bun, her skin nearly as pale as mine. Her eyes, usually dull, dark brown, now shined with a predatory glint.
"In any instance, it is a miracle you've been able to hold onto some semblance of sanity."
Any trace of foreboding disappeared with her words, leaving me to question whether I imagined it all or not. A seemingly common occurrence with her. I try my best not to squirm, feeling the unease settle within.
"Guess my mind really said 'we built different.'" I snort humorlessly, an attempt to distract myself from the energetic shift a moment earlier.
"Let's not forget what landed you in this office in the first place, Morana," Janet chides, the corners of her lips twitching up slightly. "We wouldn't want a repeat, would we?"
My jaw goes slack, and I feel my eyes widen in shock. Then, the heat of rage engulfs my body, overtaking the surprise, and I find myself speechless. For a moment.
"These...fantasies didn't contribute to my attempt. If you had been doing your job, you'd know the blame for that is solely on my trauma. They didn't even start until 3 months ago." I counter, using every bit of strength to keep my voice even. That wasn't exactly true, the first (and what I had thought was the only) one happened when I was 13, but Janet doesn't need to know that.
Janet shakes her head, pulls out her tablet, fingers flying across the screen as she types. Glancing over the device, she met my eyes for a moment before her attention flew back to the screen. Absently, my fingers begin tracing along my cuticle lines, picking anxiously at the skin.
The silence is deafening.
Eventually, Janet returns her attention to me, "How much sleep have you been getting?"
Thankful for the sudden change, I answer honestly, without hesitation. Not nearly enough. Finally, on safer aspects of my life, my appointment manages to fly by. On my way out, Janet hands me a prescription for the most potent sleeping pills she can legally give me. She claimed I would start noticing my life get better once I start actually sleeping correctly. I highly doubted it - as a lot of my issues were out of my control, but I smiled and thanked her for the script and set up our next appointment.
I'm not entirely sure what prevents me from telling her everything. I want to; she's my therapist and would probably be able to give me some guidance. She would definitely be able to make sense of what it is my subconscious is trying to tell me. It's not that I distrusted her - I've been her patient for the last nine months. She knew nearly everything about me, and still, I'm hesitant.
Perhaps it's instances like today - where the energy in the room would shift, turn almost sinister, and then return to normal as if nothing happened. That is definitely a contributing factor. Maybe it's her eyes and the way her stare makes my skin crawl. Makes me want to claw out my own eyes just so I don't get pulled into the infinite darkness within. It could even be the unease I often feel in her presence.
Hiding it certainly wasn't doing me any favours. Am I really hiding the fantasies, though? I don't think so, no. I am simply ignoring them, pretending they do not exist while on the clock. Telling her wouldn't serve me any better; she'd most likely dismiss it all as delusions. Hallucinations. Hell, I would classify them as such if I were anyone else. There was something about them that prevented me from such a label, though. Even calling them fantasies didn't sit well with me.
They all started differently; sometimes, I was with a man who had the most hypnotic blue eyes. Electric, like lightning. Everything else about him was always hidden within shadows, but he felt familiar. Wrong, dangerous...almost forbidden, yet strangely safe. In others, I was generally with various bodies with strong feminine vibes. Like the man, I could not see physical appearances, though it was not shadows that obscured my vision of them. The different feminine figures had glowing domes of specific colours, shimmering, breathing with life.
The one from this morning was vastly different from the rest - as this time, I'm pretty sure I knew the trigger. I also saw more to these figures than just glowing light; I saw physical bodies in vivid detail. There were two girls in the coffee shop. The moment I looked at them, I was transported to the same tropical paradise as usual. The taller girl's black hair and dark eyes had changed, replaced by hip-length light coral waves and bright sea green eyes. Her long, narrow face remained the same, though dainty, incandescent orange-toned lines marked her now olive skin, glowing faintly. A symbol looking vaguely like a flame sitting between her brows.
The shorter girl seemed to grow taller, her curvy figure slimming only slightly. Her skin darkened from a rich dark brown to nearly black, the golden undertones remaining. Her hair had changed styles; once in natural space buns, it fell down her back in tiny braids, adorned with glittering gold beads. Her eyes had startled me the most. They had been a soft mixture of pink and purple and flecks of gold. This girl had delicate patterned lines along her skin as well, though they were a brilliant lilac, with what looked like a sun on her forehead. She had smiled warmly at me as if we knew each other, but before I could respond, I was back in the coffee shop, the two girls staring at me as well.
'Had they seen it too?' The question has been sitting in the back of my mind since the encounter, creating endless possible answers and scenarios. Even hours later, I found that there was no potential explanation that didn't seem inconceivable. There was no viable way they had seen it too. It must just be my imagination.
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