▶ Two paragraphs mention sexual abuse. ◀
Many of my days feel eerie. My dreams carry over into the day and infuse the day with a certain feeling. Sometimes it’s a cold and clattering one. Other times, it’s a chilly and dark one. Occasionally it’s a tangled and angry one. They feel so real that sometimes I think to myself, “Too bad this isn’t a dream! I would love to wake up now.”
I’m at a house party. Faces, smeared with mascara. Drinks tipped over on the bar table. I feel dizzy, I need to sit down. Everyone is speaking Swedish – except me. I try to play it cool. Astonishment spreads, someone in uniform enters through the door. They are checking for “non-Swedes.” I have to get out of here – amidst the chaos I find a map of the building. By the exit, petrified undead await, stirred by the draft of my hurried footsteps. Huge double doors, the sound of cracking joints, my feet – don’t fall now! I burst out the door. I find a rifle and point it at a fleshy undead. My shot liquifies it. Another gnashing creature runs towards me, and I liquify it too. I run and fall to the pavement. Sand under my face. Where am I? I go back to the hostel with my friends.
Sunshine on my keyboard. A warm, bright Tuesday. Today I managed to get up really early. I glided out of bed with ease and quickly dashed to the tram. On to the office.
As I go, I check my list. Did I forget anything at home? No. Did I check if all the windows were closed? Yes. Lights off? Check. Sometimes I miss my tram if I think too long and the minutes trickle away.
At work when you have to finish your homework in less than an hour by nobody (2022) is my companion. Unfortunately, I can’t work to playlists like you’re the only one left in the library late at night (nobody 2023). My body wants to settle into the music like into a soft pillow. One that’s deep and enveloping. One that’s safe and everlasting.
The screen watches me. The editing tool is waiting on me with wide eyes. I begin typing. A curious forest with bears and spooky film music receives me with open arms. They are really close, the bears, and anything could happen at any moment. The path below my feet. My hands clutching my children. A valley opens up behind the tree line. I must protect my children. We have to get out of here!
The clock shows I only snoozed for four minutes.1 To be safe, I start a playlist of chaotic classical music and add some Hermanos Gutierrez (Connor 2021) to the queue for a change.
Back home, I spend my time like the meme that says: “when I get off work imma hit the gym, do laundry, clean & cook” (The Office Memes 2019) and then “me for 4h hours after getting home.” (ibid.). The meme shows a depressed and worn-out looking man next to a table with a half empty bucket of Utz Cheese Balls. I can relate, just without the Utz Cheese Balls. The minutes scroll by. Time idles around me until I realize that it has slowly passed.
It is warm. We are out for a walk and got some ice cream. L. makes a joke. “Hold my ice cream real quick,” I say, laughing. L.’s face. My hand, which is shaking. The summer heat off the black tar. My knees buckle, and I sink to the asphalt. “Is everything okay?” “Yes, it’s fine,” I want to say, but I can’t. I can barely breathe.2
The bed is so cozy. I try to turn off the lamp before I fall asleep. My head thinks: I have to turn off the light now! The ceiling above me. My consciousness sags into the pillow, my hand is reaching out in thought. A burning matter drifts through the air. It billows and glows. A black, hollow grimace. It traps people, screaming as they dissolve inside it. The sky is jet-black. The billowing something moves over a pool of water, it looks like it is at Sanssouci Palace. I feel like it is looking at me. The melody of One Second Less to Live from BEACHPEOPLE (2022) creeps in as a film score. I hit snooze — over and over. It must be half past eight already — wash your armpits, put your pants on, pack your bag, head to the tram, do I have everything with me? It’s three in the morning and the curtains are still open. Thank god it’s Friday! Hope nobody was disturbed! The light goes off. I pull on my nightshirt and also try to turn off my thoughts. Three in the morning, the best time for reallife horror sequences and actual nightmares. Ones that go around in circles, spining.
▶ I remember a night out at a pub, my roommate had invited me. Beer sloshing back and forth in strange five-liter plastic cylinders. I don’t drink with them. At the bar: A friendly T., we both got to talking. My openness went well with his openness. We all live in the same gray highrise. T. and I are in my room. Seconds ago he was sort of tender, but now he feels too heavy. I want him to get off me. He is bulky and clumsy. I’m tired. I just chalk it up to a bad one-night stand and quickly close my eyes afterwards. I dream about sex. Usually, I like when I dream about it. This time is different. It feels wrong. I wake up.◀
▶ T. clearly hadn’t taken Angèle’s course in Balance Ton Quoi3 . He didn’t understand: “Si elle dort, tu la laisses dormir.” (Angèle 2019). I say his name and try to push him away. He moans mine and just does what he feels like. I’m unable to react because I’m asleep. Because my body is unable to stay awake. I don’t remember anymore when exactly he left the next morning. We probably even had breakfast and chatted. All I remember is standing under the shower and understanding this feeling I’d seen before in movies. Foam. Hands scrubbing. Water running out of the shower head and out of my eyes. Hugging myself doesn’t help. My feet, which feel so far away. That disgusting student dorm shower with the cracking enamel. Someone had said there might be legionella bacteria in the water. ◀
I remember J.’s feet. We’re loading my new washing machine into the car. His feet are making such a comical squeaking sound. My whole body starts shivering. I see him grinning. The trunk is open. We have to set it down. After many breaks, we finally get to the car. Just to be safe I lay down on the cobble stones to laugh.
“L.? Are you awake?”– “Mmmmh”– “I had a very horrible dream” “Mmmmhh”— “I’m afraid to go back to sleep”— “Mmmmh.” L. sleeps. My eyes just won’t shut though. In my mind’s eye the dream won’t go away. A screen, cries, two severed thighs, gripped and restrained by iron rings attached to chains. Close-ups of a face that is having its hair ripped off with its scalp. A living body is being sliced up. I am sitting in the audience along with friends. I don’t understand what this is. A hip horror film? My friends all seem to think it’s just some regular “edgy” performance. Was that real, I ask myself? Or just good montage? Where do people get such gruesome movie ideas? I feel nauseous. The nausea refuses to leave my body. Which part of my brain should I thank for this? I ask L. if he is awake. He mumbles. It is dark outside. The wind howls around the house. Thunder. I am afraid.
On a different night, I had a sleep attack during an online meeting with my boss. I couldn’t finish any sentence and struggled to keep from falling over. My mouth struggled to produce a few incoherent words. Then, after the meeting, darkness. When I woke up, I saw chaotic notes on my whiteboard. The same words written over and over, while sleeping. Cryptic, illegible characters. Panic. Did anyone see this? Did I talk to someone in my sleep? Still dreaming, I fell asleep again at the end of the day, and after waking up, my chat screen was suddenly flooded with absurd messages.
My eyes snap open. My heart races. Where is my cell phone? My eyes scan the room. Next to me in bed. My fingers, typing in the code. My screen, still set to dark mode. My workchat, where nothing has happened. I breathe out.
A beautiful Sunday in the middle of nowhere. M. and me. It’s bright, and we step into the smooth, sweet water. “Please don’t be funny now,” I say as we swim out slowly into the clear blue lake.