Bad Dreams

I've talked a lot about the good dreams I have. In fact, that's usually cause I *rarely* ever have bad dreams, and if I do, they're just the result of my normal everyday paranoias (You know - do my teeth look all right? I'm not getting too hairy, am I? Am I getting fat?). And more often than not, I manage to have some wonderful dream where I'm snogging some famous face. (Tonight, before things went awry, I was snogging Sportacus and then I ran away with Robbie Rotten (who was way more fun). I'm such a hussy!)

But something DID go awry. The dream swerved into a shadow-world of the one I live in. I call it that because it's a place where stuff happens in my home setting, but it's not *quite* my home. It's like Drop Dead Fred, where she's in that wonky version of her house. I was in the old shed that the Granny Flat used to be, and I was feeding the cats. They were old cats, old cats we used to have. Torchwood and Mickey had leaked into this dream somehow, and I was helping them out. Don't know what, why, where. The cats were important to me for some reason.

But at some point this dream ended. I was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Standing over me was Jack Harkness. I was amazed. "Is it you?" I asked it. It smiled. Suspiciously, I asked, "Give me your hand." It did. It felt real, warm. But then it sort of - phased apart. Like a bad TV picture. "Why is your hand doing that?" Doubt had crept into my voice. Then 'Jack' turned into a half-formed figure and I was terrified. I no longer felt safe. I tried to reach for the lamp beside my bed but I couldn't, and I was having trouble turning it on. I'd reach the switch and flip it, but the light wouldn't work. In my dream I was terrified but I kept trying to wake up. I kept having 'false' wakings, and finally, in one of my false wakings, I ran to the lightswitch of my room. But it was as though my room was stretching away from me and I couldn't reach the switch. I ran through and everything was wrong. I tried it again - wake up, switch on the bedside light. And finally I broke away from the dream and managed to turn the light on. Before the Torchwood segment of the dream, I dreamt there had been a hit-and-run on the street and someone had died violently.

I'd had a bad dream the night before, too. It was the Royal Show across the street and there were parades that my sister, husband and daughter were taking part in. Tina and Paul were there too. Suddenly, these people came in with guns and rocket-launchers. It was a cross between a terrorist attack and a high-school shooting. Everyone was terrified and we were hiding away, and I was trying to find all my family and get out of there. It was just awful.

I usually don't have terrible dreams like this, not two nights in a row. The thing that pisses me off is that *I* control my dreams. Usually, I mean. If I'm having a romantic dream and I don't like the look of the person I'm supposed to be in love with, I'll change it. I've never felt so helpess, terrified and vulnerable. I feel like someone's gotten under my defences and I *don't* like it.

I honestly don't know what to do. I spoke to Mum about it and she said it was probably just the drugs. A lot of you know that I'm a spiritual person, and that I look to the paranormal for answers sometimes. I'm also a rational person, though, and I try to make sure that there's no hard and fast scientific reason before I believe in anything too out there.

I just want my fun, innocent, rompy dreams back. You know, the ones where I"m having adventures, snogging my heroes, being fancy free and not worrying about a thing. Escaping from life's drudgeries to be Peter Pan for a while. Peter Pan with a sex drive.