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Street Value |
| Written by Carey Joyce | |
| Thursday, 20 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      Another sleepless night. I keep having these dreams where several men in white uniforms hold me down. I try to fight them but fighting in dreams is like trying to drive fast in a traffic jam, you just can’t do it. Eventually the men restrain me and administer some kind of shot. It burns and always wakes me up. Sometimes I will sit and stare at the ceiling, my mind drifting. Other times I get up and find something to eat or drink. Either way it takes me at least 45 minutes to fall back asleep. Some nights this happens 3 or 4 times. Thank god for coffee in the morning.
Today I am tired, I had a personal record of 5 dreams last night. I barely slept at all. I have a headache and feel zombie-like as I prepare myself for work. I am the Director of IT Security for a regional bank. It’s no small role and requires my constant attention and professionalism. If they knew about my dreams I would probably lose my job, that’s how nutty these people are about security. I arrive at work and go about my normal routine. Much of my daily time is spent writing and reviewing security policies for the IT staff. After a few hours of this I usually examine the remaining workload and try to handoff anything tedious to my dozen-or-so subordinates. You’d be surprised by how much work is involved in keeping a bank’s computer systems secure.
Around lunch time I stare absentmindedly out of the multiple windows of my corner office. That’s when I see their reflection. The men in white uniforms are coming through my door. I turn in a panic to face them. No one is there. Just the empty room. Damn. This is the first time I’ve dreamed at work. Or whatever it is, I could swear I was awake when I saw them. I shake it off and make a mental note to see a doctor, I know full well what sleep depravation can do to the mind.
It’s after lunch now. Someone in my staff is sitting in my office, complaining about his job. This worthless punk should be lucky he has one at all. I pretend to listen to him but only nod my head, thinking about other things. Eventually he gets up to leave so I start smiling and say, “It was good talking to you, I’ll see what I can do.” At last it’s 5-o-clock. I make my way out of the building and into the parking garage. I see them again, standing near my car. The men in the white uniforms. I stop cold but they see me and start walking in my direction. They appear to be talking but I cannot hear anything they say. I turn and run, thankful that I am not dreaming and actual able to use my body effectively. I turn to look while running. ****. They are all sprinting after me. My adrenaline is pumping, I run at full speed out of the garage and into the street nearby. One car swerves to avoid hitting me as another one screeches to a halt behind me. I hear several horns. I make it to other side of the street and look back, gasping for air, the men are standing at the opposite end, not moving. I look away for a brief second and look back. They are gone. This has been a crazy day. That felt so real. I saw them, I saw them chasing me, I saw them watching me across the street. I know I wasn’t dreaming. I decide to get home as quickly as possible and attempt to sleep. Surely this is the result of sleep depravation. I get home, change my clothes, and collapse on my bed. I feel exhausted but not sleepy. I lay for a few minutes staring at my ceiling. I think about the day I had, mostly about the staff member in my office and his complaint session. My eyes are wide open, I don’t feel like moving but there’s no way I’m falling asleep anytime soon. I decide once again to call a doctor in the morning, maybe I can get some sleeping pills. I put my hands over my face and rub my eyes. What a day. I open my eyes, they’re back. They rush into my room and pin me down before I can react. My heart races and I struggle against them but I’m no match for their combined strength. I scream and kick desperately but it’s not use. They have me restrained, just like the dreams, only now it’s real. I collect myself for a moment and begin yelling obscenities while still struggling. I can see their mouths moving, their hands gesturing, but I can’t hear anything. I feel the sting from my dreams, only now I don’t wake up. I am suddenly aware of my bedroom. It is smaller, darker, and feels damp. The walls are white brick, and I find myself tied to my bed. But its not my bed, I am strapped to some other bed in some other prison-cell of a room. It feels so real, I can’t be dreaming. If this isn’t real then nothing is. I feel tired now, I’m falling asleep. “He’s developing a resistance to the medication” the doctor said to his colleague as they observed the patient through the small window in the door. “Yes, they’re having to administer it several times a day now.” The other doctor replies, writing notes on his clipboard. “It’s designed to be effective for a 24 hour period, If we can’t keep him in a blissful state then the drug is a failure.” “The Director won’t like this, he wants that grant from the pharmaceutical company.” He pauses briefly and looks up from his clipboard. “Yes, well, he needn’t know about our patients resistance. I trust you will keep quiet about this?” “As long I keep getting some of his medication, the street value of that stuff is unbelievable.” Copyright 2008 Carey Joyce |
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