lucid nightmare
(This is actually a recurring thing for me, although it only escalated quite this far once, a few months ago, but it got nearly this far last night.)
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I have just woken up, probably from a dream. I try to get up. My vision spins.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I'm asleep. I need to wake up. I try as hard as I can to blink. I can't. I try to shake my head. Nothing happens. I try harder. I try as hard as I can, and I jerk my head to the side. My vision spins and I feel dizzy and nauseated.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I've been trying to wake up. Probably only for a few seconds but I know this isn't my first try. I need to blink. I need to move my head. I need to move anything. I can't. I try and try and finally shake my head. My vision spins.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I guess I didn't actually move last time. I try to fall back asleep.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. This is frustrating. If I could only move this would all end and I'd be ok. I try to move. I can't. I'm starting to panic. Why can't I wake up. It's just a dream. Why can't I wake up. Why can't I go back to sleep. I blink.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I try to adjust the covers so I can go back to sleep. I pull them over my head and everything goes gray and then I'm dizzy again.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I don't know how long this has been going on, but I do know that I failed to move my blanket.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I lift a hand to rub my eyes. Nothing happens.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I lift a hand to rub at my eyes. I can feel the pressure of my fingers on my cheeks, on my eyelids. I see the ceiling and the ceiling fan but no hand. I don't know if it's my vision that's frozen or if my hand never actually moved from my side.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I try both hands this time. I feel them rubbing my eyes, covering my face, and I see right through them to the ceiling. But it's both hands. I feel the pressure on my face, and I feel the texture of skin on my finger tips. I just see the ceiling. It's just my vision that's frozen. My hands are on my face, I know they are. If I can move my head maybe I can shake my vision loose. I jerk my head. There's no change but I feel dizzy.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. My hands are at my sides. I bring them to my face again and still don't see them. Last time I hadn't moved them at all, but maybe this time... or maybe my vision is right and I never moved. Or maybe my eyes are closed and I'm more deeply asleep than I thought. Maybe my eyes are closed but my hands really moved. Maybe nothing has ever changed and I've been like this for several minutes, fast asleep, perfectly still, with my eyes closed, staring at a dream vision of the ceiling.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I lift my hands to my face and feel them again. Time to try to get up again. If I can blink or move my head I can wake up. Or maybe I'm already awake. I put all my thought into it, and all my weight into it, and roll over onto my side. I get a brief glimpse of my closet.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Let's try this again. I put all my weight into rolling over. All I see is ceiling, but I keep trying. I swing out my legs and roll out of bed. I know I've succeeded because the carpet is rough against my knees.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. All I can hope to do is try again. I roll over. I force myself to fall out of bed. I feel the smooth sheet brush against my thigh as I fall, and then the rough carpet scratching against my knees and palms. I stop to consider. I've definitely fallen out of bed, the tactile sensations are fairly strong. But what do I see?
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. If I could just really move, actually move, I'd wake up. So, once again, I roll over. I swing out my left leg, feel the edge of the bed against my thigh, shift my weight and roll, and feel my toes touch the floor. I can feel the contrast between my sheets against my arms and leg and the rougher texture of the carpet on the sole of my right foot. I got a brief glimpse of the closet as I rolled; I must be awake. Success.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I was sure I had it last time.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I clench my fists in frustration. My right fist doesn't respond, or if it does I can't feel it. My whole right arm is numb. I turn my head to look at it, but all I see is ceiling. I start to panic. I throw myself out of bed, and fall hard on the floor. I hope I didn't fall on my right side and damage something. I feel the carpet scrape against my left leg, left arm, left breast, my forehead, but my right side is just heavy and dead. I try to stand but I can't use my right leg and I fall back down. I realize I must be having a stroke. I need to get up and call 911. I can't. All I see is ceiling and glimpses of closet and floor and bed. I can see my bed. I can see my bed! My vision is going dark and fuzzy in one eye. I'm on the floor. But I can't feel my right side. I try again to get up and this time I can't move at all. It will be days until anyone thinks to look for me. By then I'll be dead or brain-damaged. I curl up on the floor, waiting to die, or for this to end so maybe I can limp to my phone, limp to my car. I can't drive in this condition. I can't get to the hospital and I can't call for help. I want to cry. I'm going to die and no one will find me. I'm going to be brain-damaged and there's nothing I can do. I can just lie here and wait, curled up on the rough carpet.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. My relief that I didn't have a stroke quickly gives way to anger that I'm still asleep.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Nothing has worked. I need to start from the beginning. If I can just blink or move my head I'll wake up and everything will be fine. I put all my concentration into blinking.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I jerk my head. I feel dizzy and sick and the room spins.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Everything is fuzzy through my eyelashes, and I blink several times to clear them away. I prop myself up on my elbows, then lean over and look at the clock to check the time. I reach out and take the glass of water from my nightstand, and drink a few sips. Then I roll over onto my side, pull up the covers, and quickly fall back asleep.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I have just woken up, probably from a dream. I try to get up. My vision spins.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I'm asleep. I need to wake up. I try as hard as I can to blink. I can't. I try to shake my head. Nothing happens. I try harder. I try as hard as I can, and I jerk my head to the side. My vision spins and I feel dizzy and nauseated.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I've been trying to wake up. Probably only for a few seconds but I know this isn't my first try. I need to blink. I need to move my head. I need to move anything. I can't. I try and try and finally shake my head. My vision spins.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I guess I didn't actually move last time. I try to fall back asleep.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. This is frustrating. If I could only move this would all end and I'd be ok. I try to move. I can't. I'm starting to panic. Why can't I wake up. It's just a dream. Why can't I wake up. Why can't I go back to sleep. I blink.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I try to adjust the covers so I can go back to sleep. I pull them over my head and everything goes gray and then I'm dizzy again.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I don't know how long this has been going on, but I do know that I failed to move my blanket.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I lift a hand to rub my eyes. Nothing happens.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I lift a hand to rub at my eyes. I can feel the pressure of my fingers on my cheeks, on my eyelids. I see the ceiling and the ceiling fan but no hand. I don't know if it's my vision that's frozen or if my hand never actually moved from my side.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I try both hands this time. I feel them rubbing my eyes, covering my face, and I see right through them to the ceiling. But it's both hands. I feel the pressure on my face, and I feel the texture of skin on my finger tips. I just see the ceiling. It's just my vision that's frozen. My hands are on my face, I know they are. If I can move my head maybe I can shake my vision loose. I jerk my head. There's no change but I feel dizzy.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. My hands are at my sides. I bring them to my face again and still don't see them. Last time I hadn't moved them at all, but maybe this time... or maybe my vision is right and I never moved. Or maybe my eyes are closed and I'm more deeply asleep than I thought. Maybe my eyes are closed but my hands really moved. Maybe nothing has ever changed and I've been like this for several minutes, fast asleep, perfectly still, with my eyes closed, staring at a dream vision of the ceiling.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I lift my hands to my face and feel them again. Time to try to get up again. If I can blink or move my head I can wake up. Or maybe I'm already awake. I put all my thought into it, and all my weight into it, and roll over onto my side. I get a brief glimpse of my closet.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Let's try this again. I put all my weight into rolling over. All I see is ceiling, but I keep trying. I swing out my legs and roll out of bed. I know I've succeeded because the carpet is rough against my knees.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. All I can hope to do is try again. I roll over. I force myself to fall out of bed. I feel the smooth sheet brush against my thigh as I fall, and then the rough carpet scratching against my knees and palms. I stop to consider. I've definitely fallen out of bed, the tactile sensations are fairly strong. But what do I see?
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. If I could just really move, actually move, I'd wake up. So, once again, I roll over. I swing out my left leg, feel the edge of the bed against my thigh, shift my weight and roll, and feel my toes touch the floor. I can feel the contrast between my sheets against my arms and leg and the rougher texture of the carpet on the sole of my right foot. I got a brief glimpse of the closet as I rolled; I must be awake. Success.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I was sure I had it last time.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I clench my fists in frustration. My right fist doesn't respond, or if it does I can't feel it. My whole right arm is numb. I turn my head to look at it, but all I see is ceiling. I start to panic. I throw myself out of bed, and fall hard on the floor. I hope I didn't fall on my right side and damage something. I feel the carpet scrape against my left leg, left arm, left breast, my forehead, but my right side is just heavy and dead. I try to stand but I can't use my right leg and I fall back down. I realize I must be having a stroke. I need to get up and call 911. I can't. All I see is ceiling and glimpses of closet and floor and bed. I can see my bed. I can see my bed! My vision is going dark and fuzzy in one eye. I'm on the floor. But I can't feel my right side. I try again to get up and this time I can't move at all. It will be days until anyone thinks to look for me. By then I'll be dead or brain-damaged. I curl up on the floor, waiting to die, or for this to end so maybe I can limp to my phone, limp to my car. I can't drive in this condition. I can't get to the hospital and I can't call for help. I want to cry. I'm going to die and no one will find me. I'm going to be brain-damaged and there's nothing I can do. I can just lie here and wait, curled up on the rough carpet.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. My relief that I didn't have a stroke quickly gives way to anger that I'm still asleep.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Nothing has worked. I need to start from the beginning. If I can just blink or move my head I'll wake up and everything will be fine. I put all my concentration into blinking.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. I jerk my head. I feel dizzy and sick and the room spins.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling.
I'm lying on my bed staring at the ceiling. Everything is fuzzy through my eyelashes, and I blink several times to clear them away. I prop myself up on my elbows, then lean over and look at the clock to check the time. I reach out and take the glass of water from my nightstand, and drink a few sips. Then I roll over onto my side, pull up the covers, and quickly fall back asleep.