Recently I have tried mapping my dreams in an attempt to better understand my head. Ever since I can remember I have had vast intricate dreams which became all the more potent from my long term use of seroxat.
As a child I would have nigh terrors and awake delirious and anxious. I would look around my room and everything felt sterile and cold, like every object had been replaced with an exact replica.

The room is cold and dark with a bath on the right side full of clear water. Through the whicker blind I can see a streetlight in the allyway behind the garden.
Sitting in the bath we are face to face and I learn he is my brother. He tells me that he hoped I realise this means we could never conceive. I agree and he tells me it would be impossible to ever love me either.
We are both flaxen blonde and pale. Fucking in the tepid water he is struck by some melancholy and the room soon becomes black.

I have always suffered from sleep paralysis  but after my first breakdown I was struck by a bout of it that started to cripple me. I would get waves of attacks where I would believe to be hearing the voices of the dead and feel rotten souls lacerate my feet. I could be stuck in it for hours, suffocating and struggling like I was swimming through tar.
I started to take myself through the process of sleep before reaching R.E.M. I would conciously remain liniar through the hypnogogic state where I could hear the echos of my subconscious before free falling helpless. It was terrifying at first and many times I would feel like sanity was escaping me and sit bolt up right shocked and breathless. After learning to let my fear go and allow it to take me I would survive through it and into a lucid state of sleep.

My body is nubile and beautiful as I walk headstrong into the room and see his head held high also. He emanates an air of power and for a moment I falter before going to confront me. When I pull my courage and breath deep I realise he was not the man that knew me. Sitting naked in a modified tub his form fills it to the edges. I look down at his paraplegic torso and he looks at me with a smile. He tells me that the dragon made him a eunuch and I guess I feel pity for the man that destroyed me. Only its not pity, its desire and I would still fuck his crippled form like he fucked me all those years ago. I feel no closure, I am back at the same place I always was.

I have began to write down recurring themes I encounter when dreaming. After writing the first 60 I came to realise that I was going to fill pages before even scratching the surface. I started to join the dots and notice many of the places in my dreams were based on real places in my waking life. This came as quite a horrifying realisation because I hold my sleeping life as something sacred and its connection to the waking one made it feel sullied.
I also noticed that I have far more recurring dreams about places rather then people. I realised a long time ago that when I dream about a person, even if they are based on someone I know in my waking life, I am actually always dreaming about myself (whatever part, desire, insecurity of me that is). Everything is symbolic and has reason, nothing is ever black and white.

He was an immeasurably strong giant brute of a man who drank from the blood of others.
At first it was just me and him but then he took another. They lay together like marble statues haunting the sky.
He cut off my hand and her foot and we wore them like badges of honour because we loved him so.
We were forged from frozen milk and porcelain and I clung to her like a sister.

When I am asleep I am am more alive then ever. My world is 4D, I am the trees the sky the smile on her face the cracks in the wall the atmosphere the light the fray in the carpet.

When I am awake I dream of sleeping. Sleep is the aspiration, awake I am unrequited.