Third Time's the Concern.

I've been having nightmares, and I think they may have something to do with the perpetual state of fairly-unaddressed stress I've been operating within. On the other hand, they may be a product of legitimately unsettling things that have been waking me up - I'm not certain.

I don't recall what my first dream was, but I recall waking in one of those audible "Haah!?" fashions, where I abruptly sat-up and made a noise a whole lot like that. I recited the dream, but apparently that didn't help because I can't remember it. I'm almost certain, however, that it involved post-nuclear war living.

That's been a running factor, and was actually quite vivid and even almost fourth-wall breakingly acknowledged in my second dream.

The dream began with me acknowledging that I've been returning too often to post-war living, essentially. I was in an overgrown field of dead grass, and I was not alone. I had a small band of exactly three people with me, but I don't remember who they were or what they looked like. We approached this decrepit manor-home and we began kind of ransacking it for supplies. It was empty mind you, but some of the heavy make-shift locks and such implied that for awhile, someone had lived there. There were lots of pieces of mahogany furniture, and they were all dusty and baked by the sun or bombs. I remember going into a room with a heavy lock on it and finding out that it was a little boy's room. There were lots of toys and posters, and I think I cried. There were distinctly two computers, and we were all quite eager to take them with us to see if we could establish a connection somewhere and find out if there were other people out there, where to find them, and if the war was officially over yet.

A man - he had a beard and short hair, and was distinctly carrying a shotgun - was pacing up the interior of one of the broken hallways, and we all kind of hid. I face a doorway, and as the barrel of his shotgun passed it, I folded it into my underarm, and startled him. I quickly explained what we were doing, and that it was good to see someone else alive, and that we could kind of help provide for one another. He agreed that working as a team sounded good, and I let go of his gun. I kneeled to pick up something and he shot me, leaving me painfully aware of his intentions to take our provisions and our lives, as none of us were armed to my knowledge.

I must have lived because I recall a scene where I was running towards a collapsed shed, and bizarre facsimiles of field-mice were around me.

Today, I dreamed my apartment was full of fleshless, featureless people. It was dark, and they were around in many numbers and sometimes contorted into unexpected and unconventional positions, so I was worried in particular about being taken by surprise. I squeezed myself between a safe and a hot-water heater, because there was little to worry about but my front. I could hear them approaching, though, and I began to panic, because I wasn't able to open the safe, which was presumably full of firearms.

I awoke to the sound of the Storm Sirens going off, and what I can only call the most terrifying trainwhistle I've ever had the displeasure of hearing. I'm typically a fan of trainwhistles, especially while I'm trying to sleep. There was something I'd read about, where trainwhistles were supposed to be a sign that you'd begun to become too comfortable, and it just kind of stuck. I like to go out on jogs when the trains are out. And if the trains are out and it's raining, I'm particularly joyous.

...But this thing, it exploded like a bomb, and it was forceful, and drawn, and exceptionally low. It scared me witless.

I don't know what's causing these night-terrors, but I'm growing more and more concerned for my mental state. I sincerely hope it is just stress and that I'll be happier when it's all said and done. It's just kind of a jarring, unsettling thing in the meantime, and I don't know what to do.