So for about three years I've been mostly cooked up inside my basement. Aside from a few rare occasions, I didn't see anyone outside my family during that entire time. Only recently have I left that void I fell into, so the things I'm about to talk about don't happen as often, if they happen at all anymore. I believe that the things I'm about to talk about were caused (or reinforced) by very powerful depression and lack of human contact whatsoever.
First of all, I'm going back in time a few months to when this stuff was happening all the time. My moods would fly up and down on an insane rollercoaster. One day I would be incredibly happy for no reason, and the next I would be inevitably suicidally hopelessly depressed. It was during these radical moods that these things would happen. If I was just feeling "down", they usually didn't, or they would be very weak. Same if I was just "happy". But it didn't take much effort to throw myself into a deep depression where I could experience these things to their fullest.
Now to explain what "these things" are. The first thing odd thing I noticed during these depressions (or extreme happinesses) was a color. I think it was usually red, but sometimes white, and it would appear in the corner of my basement bedroom. Often for only a moment, but sometimes it would linger there. I don't think it would move, but I could be wrong. If I tried focusing on it, it would usually vanish. But if I sort of concentrated on an area near it, I could study it. It looked like a light, only it wasn't being cast on the wall, but instead just floating there. I know that sounds weird, but it's the best way I can interpet it.
Second weird thing was voices. During the night, I could hear people talking. Lots of people. It sounded as though there was a television on upstairs, but there wasn't. The house was dead silent, but if I concentrated hard enough, I could hear a very distant group of people talking. I couldn't make out the words or anything, but I know it was people. The tone would change, occasionally one "person" would speak louder than the others. Laughter was also there, but it was very, very faint. If I breathed more than just a whisper it would muffle it to where I couldn't hear it at all.
Third weird thing, on a more personal note. During these depressions, as well as happinesses, I could make myself see things different. I know I couldn't actually "change" anything, but I could change the way everything looked to me. It was more than just "imagining" that something looked different. I could conjure the new image in my head and make my eyes see it. I could reach out and touch it, and even feel it on my fingertips. I suppose it was sort of like a voluntary hallucination, but it wasn't always voluntary. Often, while in these rollercoaster moods, if I was walking down the stairs, the walls around me would change very suddenly. They would morph from white wooden walls to medieval dungeon brick. And when I walked into a room, suddenly every single object in the room became obvious to me, like I could "see" everything in there on a whole new level. Like a blind man suddenly seeing for the first time and having everything in his sight become apparent to him. And I could bend and stretch everything in the room to my own desires. I could touch the walls and make them ripple, I could pick up things from accross the room and throw them, only to have them return to their places. I could spend an hour or more at a time just playing with my own hallucinations.
And as well as hallucinations, I've found that sometimes I can leave my body altogether. I'll suddenly see myself from the outside (usually from the back or the side. I don't think I've ever seen myself from the front) and then I shoot out somewhere, flying over a landscape and usually arriving somewhere where it's raining. It's a hillside, a place I've never seen before. Sometimes I can see myself running there, even though I'm nowhere near it. This "leaving my body" lasts only for a moment, but I can do it again soon after.
Also, I developed several more sides to me. I hesistate to say "personalities" because none of the others ever took me over completely. I could always be myself whenever there were people around, and they only "spoke" to me when I was alone. Yes, I might hear voices, but I'm sane enough to know they're my own. During the worst of the depression cycles, one of them they I developed - Sam, I don't know where the name came from - became my guide, my moral support. It didn't matter what mood I was in, he was always optimistic about everything. No matter what, which was a good thing considering how extremely negative I was about everything. Others developed, trying to change me, but none of them had names. Every passing day was a battle, and every day I had to choose whether life was worth living, and how I should live it provided I choose to continue on. They would often battle over it, fighting each other, fighting me for control, but in the end none of them won, because, I think, I had Sam to guide me.
Now on to dreams.
I dream often. If I could spend eternity in bed, dreaming, I would. I consdier myself very lucky that I'm able to dream like I do, because every dream is so incredibly real that sometimes when I wake up it takes me several minutes to believe I'm awake at all. And many, many, many, many of my dreams have similarities between the two. Locations that I've never been to appear in several of my dreams. Circumstances and events that have never happened happen often in my dreams. People that have little to do with my life make appearances in my dream, often with the same personalities. And in about half my dreams, I dream I'm dying, or getting killed, or running from a killer only to die in the end. And in many of these dreams, I die several times. As I said, my dreams feel extremely real, so when this happens - I cannot find the words to express the terror I feel. I wake up in a pool of sweat, sometimes with tears in my eyes, gasping for air. Sometimes I'm extremely warm, other times I'm unbearably cold. And as terrifying as it is to die in my dreams, I love it. They're my favorite dreams, and they're the most memorable. So I guess it's not such a bad thing, and my desire to have these dreams probably encourages them to happen more often.
Finally, a note about a certain house. When I was very young, around two or three years old, my mother used to leave me at this house called the "Rainbow House" where I would be babysat until she returned. I have only two memories of that house: once being tucked into bed, and another seeing my mother pull up in a white car to take me home. Yet, when I think of the Rainbow House, I suddenly get a strong feeling. For years I've tried to describe this feeling, but I can't. It's impossible. The feeling lasts a split second and vanishes, and it doesn't come back unless I haven't thought of the Rainbow House for a week or so, and once again it's there and gone again just as quickly. This feeling...I don't know whether it's good or bad. It sort of feels like deja vu, I guess, but to say it's like deja vu is very misleading. There's something about the Rainbow House that I'll never know, like a repressed memory or something. Or maybe something else.
So this was a long post. I'm just wondering what you people might think of all this. I know it might make me sound like a complete lunatic, but I assure you that I am in complete control of my mind and body at all times. Especially now, where I'm around people all the time and can no longer take advantage of my voluntary hallucinations (if I can even do them anymore).
Thanks for your time.
First of all, I'm going back in time a few months to when this stuff was happening all the time. My moods would fly up and down on an insane rollercoaster. One day I would be incredibly happy for no reason, and the next I would be inevitably suicidally hopelessly depressed. It was during these radical moods that these things would happen. If I was just feeling "down", they usually didn't, or they would be very weak. Same if I was just "happy". But it didn't take much effort to throw myself into a deep depression where I could experience these things to their fullest.
Now to explain what "these things" are. The first thing odd thing I noticed during these depressions (or extreme happinesses) was a color. I think it was usually red, but sometimes white, and it would appear in the corner of my basement bedroom. Often for only a moment, but sometimes it would linger there. I don't think it would move, but I could be wrong. If I tried focusing on it, it would usually vanish. But if I sort of concentrated on an area near it, I could study it. It looked like a light, only it wasn't being cast on the wall, but instead just floating there. I know that sounds weird, but it's the best way I can interpet it.
Second weird thing was voices. During the night, I could hear people talking. Lots of people. It sounded as though there was a television on upstairs, but there wasn't. The house was dead silent, but if I concentrated hard enough, I could hear a very distant group of people talking. I couldn't make out the words or anything, but I know it was people. The tone would change, occasionally one "person" would speak louder than the others. Laughter was also there, but it was very, very faint. If I breathed more than just a whisper it would muffle it to where I couldn't hear it at all.
Third weird thing, on a more personal note. During these depressions, as well as happinesses, I could make myself see things different. I know I couldn't actually "change" anything, but I could change the way everything looked to me. It was more than just "imagining" that something looked different. I could conjure the new image in my head and make my eyes see it. I could reach out and touch it, and even feel it on my fingertips. I suppose it was sort of like a voluntary hallucination, but it wasn't always voluntary. Often, while in these rollercoaster moods, if I was walking down the stairs, the walls around me would change very suddenly. They would morph from white wooden walls to medieval dungeon brick. And when I walked into a room, suddenly every single object in the room became obvious to me, like I could "see" everything in there on a whole new level. Like a blind man suddenly seeing for the first time and having everything in his sight become apparent to him. And I could bend and stretch everything in the room to my own desires. I could touch the walls and make them ripple, I could pick up things from accross the room and throw them, only to have them return to their places. I could spend an hour or more at a time just playing with my own hallucinations.
And as well as hallucinations, I've found that sometimes I can leave my body altogether. I'll suddenly see myself from the outside (usually from the back or the side. I don't think I've ever seen myself from the front) and then I shoot out somewhere, flying over a landscape and usually arriving somewhere where it's raining. It's a hillside, a place I've never seen before. Sometimes I can see myself running there, even though I'm nowhere near it. This "leaving my body" lasts only for a moment, but I can do it again soon after.
Also, I developed several more sides to me. I hesistate to say "personalities" because none of the others ever took me over completely. I could always be myself whenever there were people around, and they only "spoke" to me when I was alone. Yes, I might hear voices, but I'm sane enough to know they're my own. During the worst of the depression cycles, one of them they I developed - Sam, I don't know where the name came from - became my guide, my moral support. It didn't matter what mood I was in, he was always optimistic about everything. No matter what, which was a good thing considering how extremely negative I was about everything. Others developed, trying to change me, but none of them had names. Every passing day was a battle, and every day I had to choose whether life was worth living, and how I should live it provided I choose to continue on. They would often battle over it, fighting each other, fighting me for control, but in the end none of them won, because, I think, I had Sam to guide me.
Now on to dreams.
I dream often. If I could spend eternity in bed, dreaming, I would. I consdier myself very lucky that I'm able to dream like I do, because every dream is so incredibly real that sometimes when I wake up it takes me several minutes to believe I'm awake at all. And many, many, many, many of my dreams have similarities between the two. Locations that I've never been to appear in several of my dreams. Circumstances and events that have never happened happen often in my dreams. People that have little to do with my life make appearances in my dream, often with the same personalities. And in about half my dreams, I dream I'm dying, or getting killed, or running from a killer only to die in the end. And in many of these dreams, I die several times. As I said, my dreams feel extremely real, so when this happens - I cannot find the words to express the terror I feel. I wake up in a pool of sweat, sometimes with tears in my eyes, gasping for air. Sometimes I'm extremely warm, other times I'm unbearably cold. And as terrifying as it is to die in my dreams, I love it. They're my favorite dreams, and they're the most memorable. So I guess it's not such a bad thing, and my desire to have these dreams probably encourages them to happen more often.
Finally, a note about a certain house. When I was very young, around two or three years old, my mother used to leave me at this house called the "Rainbow House" where I would be babysat until she returned. I have only two memories of that house: once being tucked into bed, and another seeing my mother pull up in a white car to take me home. Yet, when I think of the Rainbow House, I suddenly get a strong feeling. For years I've tried to describe this feeling, but I can't. It's impossible. The feeling lasts a split second and vanishes, and it doesn't come back unless I haven't thought of the Rainbow House for a week or so, and once again it's there and gone again just as quickly. This feeling...I don't know whether it's good or bad. It sort of feels like deja vu, I guess, but to say it's like deja vu is very misleading. There's something about the Rainbow House that I'll never know, like a repressed memory or something. Or maybe something else.
So this was a long post. I'm just wondering what you people might think of all this. I know it might make me sound like a complete lunatic, but I assure you that I am in complete control of my mind and body at all times. Especially now, where I'm around people all the time and can no longer take advantage of my voluntary hallucinations (if I can even do them anymore).
Thanks for your time.
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