I woke up again, dripping in sweat. Nowadays these nightmares are not affecting me on any level. I have come in terms with them, after the initial struggles.
I haven’t counted, but I have seen myself covered in blood many times before. Blood was the only common element in all those absurdities. Each night, the way I saw myself as good as dead differed. There is this particular memory which entrusted this curse with me, but I don’t know why I watch my death this many times. I am yet to figure out the way my memories are linked with the dreams I see. I mean, nobody has it all figured out.
My grandmother had been living with us since my childhood; she was the one who forged all sense into me when I was a lost cause. But as she got old and her health deteriorated, she formed some misconception in her mind that she is feeling numb and she won’t be able to handle the pressure if others are turning against her. During the following years as she grew weaker, her mental strength got worse. Eventually doctors gave us all instructions that she is showing the initial symptoms of schizophrenia, but that was quite common with the age.
One night, she went into the bathroom and never came back for a couple of hours. Every now and then, my mom knocked and asked her whether she was okay. She was responding well without any suspicion. But finally I noted something red seeping out of the door and yes, it was blood!
Too creepier than all the movies which I have watched. Reality is too creepier than fiction. It scared the life out of me for real, but I didn’t faint. We called for help; neighbors broke the door and got in.
Grandmother was trying to kill herself by cutting a vein and allowing tap water to flow on it to release the pain. For a moment I looked into her eyes. She was there and then she was not there. Life got banished out of her, I thought. No, all of us thought so. But she was rushed to the hospital and was saved, even though I came to know about that after half a day. Until doctor gave his word that she was safe, my parents’ didn’t inform me. I was totally lost in the blood filled bathroom.
I still remember every nook and corner of the bathroom. I can paint it as it was, if I know how to paint.
Even though she was saved by the doctor, the event killed a part of me it seems. I killed myself numerous times in my dreams. I was going paranoid thinking, maybe, I’m going to become paranoid about the concept death. But gradually the frequency of these nightmares reduced and I grew up enough to realize that I have much more despair topics to think about and worry.
Wait. Looking back, there was one more common element in those nightmares. I used to see rustling of dry leaves of some plant kept on my window. As if it was observing the way I died and helping my life to get out of my body. I should distract myself. I have much more despair topics to think about. Much more despair thoughts!
I was given an hour to write about any ‘memory on Death’ and I furnished this something out of imagination. Resemblance to any person living or dead or to any incident is purely coincidental.