Miniseries

I've been having dreams in what I can best describe as miniseries. Sometimes I'll have repetitive dreams about having therapeutic conversations with people from my childhood, one at a time, about five of them in a row. They're short and simple. Each person will ask me a few questions about some part of my childhood that happened when they were part of my life, I'll babble at length about my feelings about that, and then the scenery will change and they'll fade away into the next person.

The other recurrent dream miniseries has been one where I ask my close friends and current and former lovers to kill me in different ways. Last night were 6 short dreams where I convinced my boyfriend again and again to kill me.

Dream one Me:I have a shotgun in my trunk. (handing him the key) I want you to get it, load it, then come back inside and shoot it up my nose. This is very important to me.

Him: (nervously chuckling) Don't be silly. You don't have a gun, you know I hate guns, and there's no way I could kill you.

Me: I'm serious. (jingling the keys) There is a shotgun in my car. Once you open the trunk and see it there, you'll know how serious I am. I need this.

He goes outside then returns a moment later empty handed and teary eyed.

Him: (dropping the keys in front of me) You can't be serious, and if you are then you can't ask me to do this.

I went and got the shotgun (which, by this point was under my bed somehow), propped it against my knee so that it was aimed at my face, and put his hand on the trigger.

Me: This needs to happen, and I can't do it myself. I want you to kiss me goodbye, and then I want you to pull the trigger. The dogs will clean it up.

He looked down, sighed, and pulled the trigger. The gun was tilted to the side, so it took off my nose, an eye, and several other parts of my face. I was still breathing and squirming until he reloaded and pulled the trigger again.

Dreams 2-6 were about the same but with different methods of death. A knife, poison, hanging (I insisted that he pull a chair out from under me), a different knife, and drowning.

By the last dream, he understood how it would play out, and when I pulled him to an abandoned pool with me at two in the morning and told him that I needed to die, he slammed my head into the concrete until I was unconscious and then held me under water for hours. He sat on the submerged steps into the pool, holding me under by the hair long after I was dead. My third person self was distressed that he still had his boots on, which were undoubtedly getting soaked, and that his black pants would be bleached from the chlorine.