As if I had been there before, and that it wasn’t just some place in my head. What made the dream even more unnerving was that the hospital seemed familiar.
All of the halls and rooms were poorly lit, as if the backup power was being used to keep the place lit. The furniture was torn and scattered across the floor, if present at all. Some snaked down, broken and sparking, only to add to the decrepit nature of the place. The ceiling tiles were damaged, exposing the pipes and cables above. The place seemed abandoned, the walls stained with dark brown over the peeling, sun-bleached walls that have turned to a sickly ivory colour.
Unlike your usual sterile building, where smiling nurses would escort patients suffering from all kinds of ailments to the correct rooms to be treated, it was disgusting. From the age of eight I suffered horrific dreams, all of which were based in a specific hospital. But it gave me a small comfort that there was a reason, a rational explanation for having such an irrational fear.īut, in reality, it was because of the nightmares. Of course, this didn’t help my fear at all it probably served to perpetuate it further. Perhaps it was because my young mind linked pain and illness to them it would make sense to a child, since you go to the doctors when you aren’t feeling well, maybe they were the ones that caused it. Maybe it’s because I’m squeamish, I would tell myself. And yet, I could not even be in the same room as one without shivering, without the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Ignoring slight hiccups in medical practice, everything they did was beneficial. You may wonder why these individuals were here only to heal us, mend us. Ever since I was a child, I always had a crippling fear of doctors.
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