52 Stories from 52 Photos: ‘#16’
What if I told you that I could travel through time? Would you believe me? Or presume me to be simply another mad man, lost within his own wretched mind? I wouldn’t blame you if it were the latter — I remember seeing men on the side of the road tearing at their clothes and howling about dimensions, conspiracies, the end of the world. I thought they were crazy too at the time, but knowing what I know now; perhaps I was wrong. But every scream starts with a whimper and for me, it began while I was asleep. Even as a young boy I had such powerful visions in my dreams that I would wake convinced that what I had seen is what had passed. It could take days, sometimes weeks for me to be convinced of their fictitiousness. But as I grew into a man I came to understand that for some, what happens when we close our eyes is more than just fantasy.
One day in my early twenties I’d experienced such an extended period of déjà vu that I gave in to a complete anxiety attack. It was as if each step had been choreographed a long time ago and there was nothing I could do, no direction in which to turn that had not be pre-ordained. After hurling myself home to the safety of my room (just as I knew I would) I sat at the edge of my bed and thought very hard about what was happening. It occurred to me just as the last birds went to sleep that I had seen this day before in a vivid dream some months previously. It had been one so realistic and insidious in its normality that I had awoken feeling as if it hadn’t been a dream at all. And now here it was all over again. The realisation was so enormous and confounding that I fell asleep almost instantly.
“Si vous dormez, si vous rêvez, acceptez vos rêves. C’est le rôle du dormeur” I heard as my head sank in between the folds of the pillows and sheets.
As the months and years progressed these ungodly periods of repetition grew more frequent; each referring back perfectly to a dream I’d had at some point in the past. One morning I awoke from a seemingly endless and haunting dream where my best friend had been beaten to within an inch of his life by a violent and faceless gang. It was a full 18 months before I watched it happen again, this time horribly, inescapably awake. I was forced to experience it twice. Can you imagine how it feels to know something like that is coming but be completely blind as to when? The guilt of impotent foresight? I spoke with a councillor who decided I was suffering post-traumatic stress disorder from the ordeal. When I touched on these premonitory experiences she wrote out a hefty prescription for something strong before I’d even finished the sentence.
I thought I was cursed. I wracked my brains every single day for anything I could have done to make the universe look down on me with such scorn. No man is meant to experience life twice but here I was, every single night now a precursor to a day I would eventually live in the light. I watched these pictures unfold as if from behind a thick porthole; unable to reach out or intervene but to simply observe. The attack on my friend changed things for me, though. I decided I had to learn to recognise when I was in the second, waking version faster so as to change the course. What use were these trips into the future if they offered no clairvoyance? I dedicated myself to turning this plight into a cause.
It took a very long time to master and I gave it everything I had. But eventually I got there — and life became easier to navigate. I came to think of these loops as rehearsals, and every morning I performed each show with the precision and confidence of a born-star. Until the night I saw my death. I tried to shake it off, telling myself I would see it coming; that I would do everything I could to avoid it and escape my demise like a god. But the next time I lay to sleep I had the same dream, and the night after that — the same dream again. This recurring nightmare was stuck on me like a cancer, and I felt it spread through me to my core. It was final and I came to understand that some things cannot be avoided. Eventually I awoke one morning and I knew I was there. I’d seen it so many times I recognised it instantly.
My last day.
Rising quietly, I splashed cold water on my face and took a long look at my reflection in the mirror. From there I allowed each movement to play out naturally, just as I had done on that first day of déjà vu until it was dusk already and I was standing at the shore. I walked calmly through the dark waves until the water was all around me. As my head bobbed above and below the surface I suddenly realised why this was unavoidable. In the dream I’d submerged myself willingly. I’d been so terrified by the vision that I hadn’t faced the obvious — this is what I had come to want most, deep down in my heart. I was tired with the fatigue of a man who’d lived twice his time but never truly slept. It was time to rest. With that thought I relaxed completely, letting the ice cold waves tuck me in forever.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in bed. Rising quietly, I splashed cold water on my face and took a long look at myself in the reflection of the mirror.
