You weren't human, when I need you most

I dreamed that Miranda had died. The details of her death weren’t mentioned, just the mention of her death. I refused to see her in the hospital – not mentioned in the dream, yet somehow I felt the avoidance of seeing her upon her death-bed. Flashes of tubes and machines came to me. It was easier this way, I thought. Not remembering her as a body without a soul or mind, just a being – animated only by the devices of human. I don’t even remember who told me that she’d passed. I just know that later in the dream, I received a phone call from Miranda a la Twilight Zone episode. Her spirit/consciousness/whatever called to tell me of the afterlife. It brought me peace. It left me without the fear of death.

Dreams have a way of making me realize certain things I’ve overlooked. I suppose that’s what they’re there for. Our subconscious attempting to push knowledge back into us. Or maybe I’m over analyzing the whole thing. Maybe my dreaming of Miranda’s death was just incidental and not consequential.

My late night visits to the grave – metaphorical – have taken their toll on my sanity. From the voices that grow in volume each night, drowning me in their words, to the waking up but not waking up. I’ve had problems with sleep paralysis my whole life with a few cases that involved auditory hallucinations, but these last few weeks have been a nightly succession.

It’s come to the point that my already shotty memory has worsen. Conversations that never happened are recalled; those that did, are altered. There will be more on the subject later, along with the meaning of the caption above. My thoughts, once again, have skewed.