12-09-2017, 01:06 PM
Dreams or...?
I cannot recall ever being an animal in my dreams bar one occasion, many years ago after I'd seen the video clip for Snoop Dogg's "What's My Name" for the first time (fuck I feel old!). CGI morphing was quite new at the time (I think) and the image of a Snoop morphing into a Doberman was indelibly burned into my brain...that night I had a really, really vivid dream of morphing into a large dog, running with my pack and...umm...the rest of that story is best left to your imagination!
Erotic dreams are quite rare for me though when they do occur I am invariably (with the previously noted exception)...me, a plain boring old human, human hands, feet, arms and legs...and yes "those" bits are human as well...but man oh man, the dogs! Never anyone else present but male canines, some I've known but many more I wish were real!
That's the good part...now, I really don't want what follows to be a life story but I'm not sure how else to tell the tale of my dreams so...I dunno, if it's too long and looks boring don't read it yeah?
The other dreams started when my first partner was about six years old, he'd had a particularly bad start to his life. I "adopted" him aged two years, but his misspent youth was catching up with him big time, we were on a first name basis with everyone in the local vet surgery and quite a few specialists as well. We suspected he'd suffered some sort of spinal trauma during his previous life (which was proving very hard to pinpoint) and this in turn led to multiple episodes where he was in so much pain that he'd fall to the ground screaming, half paralysed and biting anything non human/canine within reach. It was truly horrific to see a loved one going through that and he has my eternal respect as despite basically trashing everything around him while it was happening - on one occasion he took out a seatbelt in one bite despatched his car harness in the same manner then basically destroyed the back seat of my car in the space of a few seconds, complete with teeth marks in several pieces of steel - he still allowed me to comfort him as much as I could and move/restrain him so he wouldn't injure himself. The noises he would make, the most bone chilling screams, still ring in my ears to this day. Thankfully these episodes lasted less than a minute at a time often with many months between them where he'd seem, and indeed was, perfectly fine.
Quite soon after the first of those episodes I started having dreams , rapidly increasing in frequency from three to four then five nights a week, dreams that he was gone. The pain in those dreams was just...unimaginable, I wasn't just upset - I was the one screaming and screaming and screaming completely unable to silence myself. It was emotional agony, like I was being burned alive from the outside while simultaneously being snap frozen from the core. I felt an overwhelming sense of loss, despair...dread.
On occasion I would dream that I'd woken up...phew! It was all just a dream after all! I'd look over the bed for him, finding his spot empty...and the pain would again hit like a stroke of white hot lightning, rarely (thankfully) this cycle would repeat, again and again. Eventually of course I really would wake up and there he'd be, snoozing away...contented, relaxed, comatose...completely unaware of the drama that had unfolded in my head just a few feet away. I would start to move to him, still overflowing with grief and a very cold dense feeling of dread, to wake him for the days activities, afraid of course that he wouldn't move. He would sit up ready to go and full of life before I could even extricate myself from the blankets and all at once the fear that had so gripped me would evaporate...he'd go about his usual day as though nothing had happened because in fact, for him nothing had.
I started to fear sleep.
Rapidly I learned that if I slept only from absolute exhaustion I'd rarely dream, and so began the better part of a decade of self induced sleep deprivation. The day my partner died the screams that had previously been confined to that nonsensical space that is my subconscious I could feel as vibrations in my throat, only the most distant of sounds made it to my ears though I knew full well just how loud they likely were and rushed to stifle them lest the neighbours think someone had been murdered and come to investigate. (Protip: stifling uncontrollable screams with a pillow will make them stop just as you're on the edge of passing out, no air = no noise. Or at least that worked for me. YMMV.) It was some four years after his first painful episode that I said goodbye and if I foolishly gave in to that biological desire for a good nights sleep then the dreams were waiting for me, worse than ever for now he really was gone and waking would bring no solace, I was living my worst nightmare every single day.
In the year that followed his death I contemplated suicide every day without exception, I drew up detailed plans of a suicide apparatus (basically an electric chair). I started to self harm (oh, how relieving was the physical pain!) but was at least self conscious enough as to only burn where I could hide or explain away my wounds...how could I explain to anyone that I was going through this over a dog? A noise in my head, a constant roar like an impending tornado grew closer, more urgent each day...day in and day out.
Five years of limited sleep down. I was losing the plot.
It was at this point, realising I was in serious trouble and really had nothing to lose, I came out to a friend (with a backup plan if things didn't go well involving a nearby highway, a bush and a speeding heavy vehicle...) who as it happened didn't really approve of my "lifestyle" but thankfully, seeing the pain I was suffering and not actually wanting me to die, tolerated it all the same...in fact I got a good dressing down for not asking for help sooner. A few months later that friend arrived with of all things, an eight week old male large breed puppy, "I just hope he makes you happy". All at once the noise in my head softened, not muted but turned down from it's previous setting of 11. That first night, tucked into bed with that eight week old bundle of mischief was the first time in more than a year I felt safe...safe from myself.
It took several more years for me to re-learn anything like a good sleep pattern, the last two years or so despite being challenging in many other ways have been kind in the sleep and dream departments. I've watched that puppy grow into a beautiful mature canine, to the point that I love him as much if not more than my first partner - I like to think I chose to allow myself to do this (like I had a choice). Others have come and have lived out or are living out their lives here in what I hope is enjoyment but none have "fit" the way he has, he is special - not a companion but a life partner. This is of course a problem, he's seven years old now, his breed typically lives to nine. His mother passed aged 7, his aunt at 5, both from cancer. Other more distant relatives have passed in the last twelve months all from the same cancer, only one has made it to double digits. He's the picture of perfect health but...last month the dreams started again.
Last time I had no social network to speak of, no friend who knew what I was dealing with, absolutely nobody to talk to. I did have another dog but as many will appreciate another dog is just that - another dog, loved all the same but not a partner. This time I have a good network of friends, okay most of them don't know why I'm so attached to my dogs, I know a couple at least think it (have been told to "go fuck your dog" on more than a few occasions, I give them a blank look and say that it's the other way around) and one friend who knows all. This time will be different, it has to be.
