Work Text:
Entry #1
This may be quite possibly the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life, but alas my dearest youngest brother wishes for me to experiment with dream journaling. Something about being able to express my thoughts and remember more clearly. In theory, a wonderful idea! And I am grateful as ever for Angelo attempting to find new ways to work on our… issues. In practice, I already feel like tossing this book directly into an oncoming train.
Perhaps I should talk about the dreams instead. I've never been one for complicated self reflections. I prefer analyzing outside material, thank you very much.
Tonight's dream placed me somewhere that I recognized, though I don't know from where. Some house in a tree. Horribly built, but it was stable enough. It was built of one room, near empty, completely unfurnished. I remember it being quite pretty inside. It was sunset (or maybe sunrise, I don't recall checking) and there were open windows on every side that let the light in. I think there were trees outside- cherry blossoms, if I had to guess.
I did not do much. Or maybe I did, and I just don't remember. I've been having some issues with my memory since we got back, but dreams are supposed to be somewhat forgettable. I've certainly never remembered many of mine.
Perhaps that's why I should be doing this journal. If nothing else, it can help me remember who I am, what I'm doing. Maybe it can remind me of the past.
I don't particularly enjoy forgetting.
Signed
Donatello
Entry #2
My dream tonight was… gold. Very gold. Inexplicably, overwhelmingly golden. I was in some sort of room (personally, I'd consider it more of a trial chamber) that was made of solid gold. The walls, the ceiling, the floor and sets of stairs- the only reason it didn't blind me was that there were no lights on.
It was strange, to walk through. Like I could feel things happening that weren't really there. I could almost imagine playing tag with my brothers in that room, or perhaps I was imagining someone else. I don't know.
It's frustrating. There was something else there, like a memory, that I lost the moment I woke up. I don't remember what I was doing, or who I was with. I just remember the room. And I keep wondering, is it something important? Why did it stick with me so hard? Why is it that, on occasion, I'll dream something so vivid it feels real, and then not remember it in the morning? Why are the only things that I keep with me the settings that don't matter?
It's. Irritating.
Maybe this journaling wasn't such a great idea. I am absolutely NOT one for believing in things like dream symbolism, and on principle I refuse to start. This is going to strictly stay a record, and nothing else, from here on out.
Signed
Donatello
Entry #5
I fell asleep twice last night. The first time I dreamt I was a rat, investigating a mansion. Or maybe I was the right size, and the rest of the world was just large. I remember there being a wedding, and not much else. I remember there was a library. I remember that someone got poisoned.
The second time I fell asleep I didn't dream anything.
Donatello
Entry #7
What is the point of this? There's nothing important in my dreams, or my nightmares. It's another way for my own mind to be used against me, for past to continue to haunt us. My dreams are not reality. Why should I treat them as if they mean anything at all?
I dreamt of a house. I remember it, from another night. I wrote an entry about them but it's not in the book, so I might have written in a different journal.
It was dark. No lights on inside, and nothing moved around me outside. It was still, apart from the movement in the grass. Something was telling me to go inside. I don't if I wanted to or not. Sometimes I feel that way in real life. That something other than myself is telling me what to do, and no part of me feels anything about it. Like I'm being pupettered without strings. It's not a fun feeling.
Leo says I might be disassociating, or having some sort of traumatic episode. We all have those, now. I don't know how to explain to him that it's less that I'm panicked and more like I'm dreaming. Like there's something else in my head, something that I don't remember. Maybe he understands, but I don't think he does.
Signed
Donatello
Entry #12
Last night I got chased in some sort of factory. I don't remember the exact environment, for once, just the feeling. Something was ticking above me, counting down, and I just remember feeling like I was trapped inside a giant clock.
Whatever was chasing me didn't catch up. I was simply too powerful, honestly. I ran into a room and ended up going back to bed, and waking up still feeling like I was being chased. Not fun, but I did win whatever little game we were playing and therefore! So I will take this night as a glorious victory, and if I ever come across that beast again I will best it once more.
Happily signed
Donatello
13
he caught me this time
Entry #16
Sometimes I wonder what parts of my memories are real, and what parts aren't.
I've written every dream I've had for a little over two weeks, and yet only a select few are actually in my journal. When asked, nobody else could find where I'd written them. I remember writing. But did I really do it? There's no evidence, apart from my own recollection.
I can't rely on that.
Last night I dreamt that I was sat at the edge of the universe. It was huge, an endless expanse full of things far larger than I. There were statues the size of mountains, mazes that took hours for me to traverse. I walked for a long time and found nothing. I don't even really think I found the end.
When I woke up I wrote entry 17 into this journal. I remembered much more, then. I wrote about human heads fifty times my size, the paths I took, the things I saw. I described the feeling of the wall in vivid detail, because it was so present in my brain that I could almost still feel it next to me.
And then I woke up again, and entry 17 was not written. And all I can remember is that first impression of the edge, all descriptors evading me.
Maybe it's good that I'm writing about this. If I ever lose it, the others can understand how much of me was already gone.
Donatello
Entry #20
I drowned last night. I don't remember anything else.
Donatello
Entry #24
I awoke in the caves. There was glass stopping me from leaving, or maybe an attempt to stop something else from getting in. I say attempt, because they got in anyways. They always do.
I don't remember what happened in the end. I hid under my sleeping bag and watched as things would pass me by, and I remember that when they looked at me, I could see my own reflection in their eyes. I had different markings. I don't remember why.
I can see them still, in the shadows. They are both real and not, perceivable but only if you hurt yourself looking. I keep catching my reflection. I keep feeling their eyes on me.
I don't know what's real anymore.
30
I think they followed me out.