Disclaimer: I know that what I’m about to publicly write may cost me people’s belief in my sanity. Be it as it may.
I just finished watching the latest episode of Lost, entitled The Constant. I knew nothing about the episode other than what I had read in this article from EW’s Doc Jensen (my favorite Lost commentator). So I knew it was an episode about Desmond. And I knew it was going to expound further upon Desmond’s odd time-traveling / vision episodes, which started at the beginning of season three. In the previous Desmond-centric episode on this topic, he found his present self suddenly in his past. But this one was different: Desmond’s past self found himself in his present, with no knowledge of his present surroundings.
Confusing? It probably is to most people. But not to me.
Because I have these same episodes. Mine are not as Hollywood-perfect-to-advance-the-narrative complete time-switches, but they are flashes, which result in me coming back to the present confused, no idea where I am, no idea who I am or who is around me.
I know. I sound crazy. I might be.
These episodes started around the same time I got this book for a gift, or at least I think they did. I was eleven or twelve. It could have been earlier but after I read Einstein’s Dreams I had a way to explain it to myself. See, this book is a collection of short fables, if you will, written by a scientist attempting to get inside the mind of the young Albert Einstein as he was coming up with his theory of relativity. And the basis for this theory is that time is bendable, and ultimately bends back upon itself. And that we, as humans, live in four separate times at once–our past, our present, our future, and our dreams. It’s one of the reasons people never dream about their death–circumstance of death, yes, but never the actual dying part, and if they do they don’t dream about themselves again, because that time no longer exists. And so if the theory is correct, that we do live in four separate times, our realities can become muddled, criss-crossed, confused.
I go through phases where these moments are nearly gone. If I have them, they are confined to night, the moments between awake and sleep. I will come out of one completely disoriented, my breath shallow and hard, clammy sweat starting to form, sometimes yelling out to hear the sound, reaching for something that convinces my brain I’m back in reality. When I’m alone, this usually takes the form of my fist into the headboard. If it hurts, I know it must be real. Or throwing something, just to hear the noise. I used to have them during the day. I dreaded having them in class, zoning out and coming back, no outlet within the confines of public decorum that could convince me of reality. I remember having one once at home, sitting at the dining room table. My parents wanted to have me committed. But they didn’t. Maybe they should have. Maybe something in the psychotropic drugs would have stopped these.
There are many things in life that take me awhile to convince myself it’s okay to do because I’m so scared of these happening. Working a nine-to-five job that doesn’t completley engage my brain in an office surrounded by strangers. Sleeping with someone for the first time. Sleeping alone. Sleeping without either a few beers or sleep meds in my system.
I’ve tried to explain them to people before. I never do a very good job because I’m so afraid that the truth will just sound…unplausible. So I write it off as a “bad dream”. Or anxiety. But it isn’t that. Things just stop being real.
In the show tonight, the 2004 Daniel Faraday tells the 2004 Desmond (who is actually the 1996 Desmond jumping forward) to find his 1996 self in order to help him. And his answer? Desmond needs to find his constant. Something in his present that also existed in his past that will ground him, that he will trust.
And Desmond finds it. In Penny. The 1996 Desmond jumps back and forth enough to know what to do–get Penny’s phone number in 1996 (who at this time he has left and run away from), so he can call her eight years later in order to ground himself. She gives it to him. And he calls. And he knows it’s going to be okay.
And then in the last two minutes of the show, we see Daniel paging through his journal, accompanied by ominous music, as he finds a page across which is scrawled “If something goes wrong, Desmond Hume will be my constant.”
But I don’t think Desmond knows this.
Maybe that constant is what I need. But I know I’d rather have a willing constant other than me clinging to one who doesn’t necessarily want that job. Or know that they have it.
All I know is that over the last year or so, these episodes have become fewer and farther between. Until lately. And now they’re back in earnest.
2 Comments
February 29, 2008 at 3:08 pm
I began having incredibly real “night terrors” at the age of 12. They kept up for a year and a half – pretty regularly once a month; usually happening close or at onset of my periods (where hormonal activity is the highest).
At that time, I was deeply interested in psychic stuff, and did a lot of study with good books and magazines (few met my criteria). So I think that sensitized me to that sort of experience (i.e., your interest in “Lost” kicked up a LOT of stuff for you).
It was as though I were living out chapters of a small girl’s life…out of order. Took about a half-year’s of these for me to figure out this might be a past life.
She did not end well. She had parents and a protector who loved her – and she died without them. **She could not read yet.** So everything is vividly visual, and usually non-verbal. And the point-of-view is about 3-1/2 feet off the ground. Consistently.
But everything is seen through my eyes – let’s say, the same “feel” behind the eyes. And it’s largely my present personality. So this is NOT another personality. It’s just me, when I was someone else.
I would always have these dreams right when I was supposed to wake up – and would beat the alarm, sometimes sitting straight up; bed soaked with sweat. These visions always ended the same way – no matter what portion of life they presented. About 8 or 9 machine gun bullets through the back. No, the little girl couldn’t really count yet, either. I’m going off of the *sound* and the *feel*.
Which is absolutely terrifying. And, since then, pretty much corroborated by what I’ve learned. I wouldn’t trade what’s in my brain for the world.
It happened; but is she me?
IF I DENY THE REALITY OF THAT LITTLE GIRL (and that she’s me), THE DREAMS WILL RETURN. That I’m sure of.
No harm in it. It’s a past; I got a shrine in my brain, and, you know – that’s all right.
Because maybe this time I can use my energy to make sure it *doesn’t happen again*…
To ANY young’n.
I will write more on this – because I’d been meaning to…for myself. I’d suggest acknowledging – out loud- next time it happens, that it’s real; you respect the knowledge – but you need to be YOU – as you stand right now (and you can’t be disturbed!)
I was never disoriented once I awakened.
Nor did it ever occur while awake – so your situation concerns me.
Check out “PETIT MAL” – PLEASE. Your meds might be bringing on this minor form of epilepsy.
Get a hold of a counselor (psychologist) – and make damn sure he/she is JUNGIAN.
Don’t be afraid to tell whatever’s bugging you to leave you the *F* alone…it’s your right.
April 29, 2008 at 8:07 pm
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