This past week, I took an amazing trip up the coast to northern California. I had a great time enjoying the beautiful scenery and being out in nature, away from the hustle and bustle of life in San Diego. After a relaxing day, I drifted off to sleep in a little tent between giant redwoods ... until I woke up crying. Crying! And from a dream! I have such a weird imagination.
Anyway, the situation was this - I was driving way too fast, trying to get onto the freeway next to my old church. I was driving my ex-boyfriend's car and couldn't slow it down. I remember I tried to swerve the car around the SUV in front of me so I wouldn't hit it, but ended up just loosing control. I knew I was going to hit the car going at least 80 miles an hour. I knew I was going to die. I shut my eyes tight and shouted out loud, "I don't want to feel it. Please don't let me feel it." over and over again to myself. I don't know who I was talking to, but apparently it worked. As my eyes were closed, I remember the rush of the wind, the resistance of the other car as I skidded underneath it and the anxious, prickly feeling after I felt myself come to a complete stop. I didn't want to open my eyes. I didn't want to know what happened or how everything looked or what to do next. I was sure I was dead.
Slowly, I allowed my eyelids to separate and take in my surroundings. My car was scrunched underneath the SUV that had previously been in front of me on the shoulder. There were about 7 or more other totaled vehicles near it too. At this point, I was second guessing my living status. Was I really dead? I saw a few others wandering around the crash site, but couldn't see any obvious signs of fatal trauma. I could feel that something was wrong with me, but I wouldn't allow myself to look down at my body. I didn't want to confirm my suspicions. I approached a few of the other people who had started to congregate under a bridge and noticed that some were random people I had gone to high school with and the rest were from my old church. Thinking we were the survivors of a horrible accident, I decided it would be okay to look down at my body. Bad choice. I was covered, head to toe, in road rash. It was so real. I had no skin left, my exposed muscle was oozing bloody body fluid and the white of bone strained through at a few places. I wanted to vomit. I literally felt sick.
After realizing the state my body was in, I didn't understand how I could be alive. Why didn't I feel anything? Why isn't anyone reacting to my grotesque appearance? I had to be dead. All I could think about was who would take care of my house, my school stuff, my car. Who would be notified first? Who would take care of my debt? I didn't want to be a burden to anyone. I remember thinking my parents would be angry I died without apologizing to them for our latest disagreement. All of these things were rushing through my mind and then, I saw my brother walk up and join the group. Oh no. Oh no, I don't like this. What in the hell was he doing here?! Was he involved in the accident or was he here to take me to the hospital? I didn't register that he was dead as well until he turned around and I saw the 12 inch piece of shrapnel sticking out of his neck. I think this is when I started crying while I was asleep. Really? Two family members in the same accident? We were driving separately to different destinations and still ended up meeting our end simultaneously? What was my family going to do? My poor parents, my poor little sister. Would we have a joint funeral? Who would be there? It was way too much for me to comprehend.
Eventually, our group of about 15 dead people/ spirits/ whatever made our way over to one of the bathrooms of my old church. As we were walking up the street to the building, I kept hearing someone yelling numbers. "Group 733! Group # 733!" I asked one of the women in the group that I used to go to church with what that meant. She said that each group would be called so we would know where to go next. I remember knowing that it wasn't time to be divinely judged and we weren't on our way to a final destination. We were waiting to receive some sort of order, like the military or something. Still sobbing, eyes focused on my brother, I sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom trying not to think about my road rash and listening for our number to be called.
Freezing forest air combined with my wet face woke me up that morning. I felt weak, like my body had been tense all night and my eyes were puffy from crying for a good amount of time. I don't like these kind of dreams. It was too real and too horrible. Even though it happened last week, I'm still really creeped out by it. I'm hoping I don't have one like it again anytime soon.
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