When I wake up, I look at the clock, wondering why the alarm didn’t go off, because I feel as though I’ve slept all night. But often I've slept only a couple of hours.
I don’t feel sleepy. I feel tired. Even though I’ve slept only a couple of hours, I feel as though I’ve slept all night because my dream left me exhausted.
I used to remember my dreams in detail. And they were detailed. They were interesting, informative spectacles. I was always a spectator, observing them, aware they were dreams. I learned about myself from watching them. Now I remember nothing of my dreams after I wake. I wouldn’t know I’d been dreaming if I didn’t have the feeling that something momentous had been happening, and then suddenly it stopped. A great cacophony, like the noise of a violent battle, suddenly stopped and there was only the silence of my bedroom.
It's as though I'd been in a forest, and heard the sound of a distant battle. It grew louder and louder as I moved towards it until, finally, I climbed a hill and saw the soldiers below me, fighting; and they, seeing me, stopped fighting and looked up at me. Did they think I was their general?
It's as though I'd been in an insane asylum, and heard its inmates wailing. The sound grew louder and louder as I moved towards it until, finally, I opened a door and saw them; and they, seeing me, stopped wailing and looked at me. Did they think I was their doctor?
It's as though I’d entered hell.
I am in hell. We all are. I used to think I could help them. They thought so, too. But I can help no one.