This is a panorama of my room. There shouldn’t be anything dox-worthy here. You’ll need the layout of my room for the dream. Also, where my calendar is used to be an analog clock.
Ok, onto the recurring dream.
For the five times I’ve had this dream, it’s always been like this: The dream starts with me standing on my bed. Only my nightstand, which is directly to my right, illuminates. My clock is missing the minute and hour hands. My door is open. A figure stands in the door way. He wears a hood over his head. His face isn’t visible, but blood drips from what would be a mouth. He breathes raggedly. The dream is never more than 15 seconds. Obviously, it’s a nightmare, perhaps it was even a sleep terror.
The first time this dream came, I just stood on the bed and screamed. The figure burst at me, and the dream ended. I had “died”.
The second time, I tried to slide under the figures legs. Again, I “died”
The third time, I tried to feed him a flying side kick. Karate certainly didn’t save me then.
The fourth time went just like the first.
But the fifth would be different. I spawned in immediately knowing it was a dream. I’m someone who’s grown accustomed to escaping nightmares by “committing suicide”. There is no pain in dreams; only fear. And that fear was gone. I remember saying “Come at me, bitch!”. It “killed” me, ofc. I haven’t had the dream since then, those couple years back
