I have been taking Champix (Chantix for the Americans) for about six days now, and although it is definitely working (I am smoking less without even thinking about it), Some of the side effects have made themselves known. One I had read about was Champix dreams, people on Google have mentioned how after a few days they start to have vivid dreams which stay with them after they wake.
I have actually been looking forward to this aspect, and last night I was not let down.I had what is I think the most realistic dream of my life. Clear and solid, with details normally absent from the world of sleep. More strange is how I can still remember it. It feels more like a memory than a dream. So I have decided to share it.
Now I know normally when someone tells you their dream it is nowhere near as enthralling to others as it is to the dreamer. So I have tried to tell it like a story, and keep it a bit interesting. Everything I have written though is exactly what happened, no added details, no embellishment. I hope you enjoy.
A dozen or so people stand quietly in a thirty story room about ten meters by ten meters. A few talk amongst themselves, waiting for the elevator to make its way up to our floor. Brown wallpaper with silver trim makes the room seem smaller than it is. A top to bottom window to one side lets light into the otherwise dark space, but does little to help the claustrophobia created by the brown walls and carpets.
A Chinese man with black rimmed glasses and a yellow jump suit stands near the window, sorrow flowing from his eyes and a look of despair written across his face. I can see he needs help. Maybe just someone to talk to, but it’s not my resposibility. Besides, I don’t even know him.
A woman with blurry features stands next to me and begins a conversation I am not interested in. I paint a pretend smile across my face and hope it fits with her conversation. My focus is on the others. Who are these people that seem to know me? Why do I feel like I know them?
The elevator still hasn’t arrived. I don’t think anyone has called it yet. I don’t think anyone is actually waiting for an elevator except me. They are just standing, grouping together in this little-big room for no other reason than to be here.
Something feels wrong. I look across to the window and notice that the Chinese man and everyone else has started inching away from it, they know something. Before long it becomes apparent what. My gaze drops to the floor and my mind wraps itself around what it is my eyes are seeing. The floor is crumbling. No, not crumbling. Turning to sand and flowing through an ever widening gap to the outside world.
The window stays in place for now, but the hole in the floor gets bigger and bigger. Flows away faster and faster. Like fine sand being poured from a tipping table. It flows out in a triangular shape. Wider at the window, but spreading in towards the room. Billions of carpet colored grains flowing out from where the floor meets the window frame. The gap between the hole and the people stood around watching it gets smaller with each second. The gap is big enough to swallow a man and then spit him out thirty floors above the ground.
The people with me seem scared, yet they don’t move, not enough. A few are too close to the flowing floor and they start stumbling and screaming, knowing what lies for them on the other side of the window. One gets caught with the sand and crashes through the hole in the floor, smashing into the bottom of the glass and taking a large portion of it with him. His form disappears as he drops to his death.
Why don’t I run? Why are we standing here watching this happen?
More people slide towards the window and tumble out. Men and woman terrified of what comes next, the long fall to their deaths the only outcome, but still they don’t run.
The floor stops crumbling. The final bits of sand flow from what is left of the floor. About a fifth of the room and the people have been taken. The large triangular hole gaping, almost alive with a hunger for more victims.
The screaming dies down as people stare in disbelief at what has happened. Then slowly, their concern fades. The hole and the people it has consumed no longer seem to matter as much. There is sadness yes, but mostly, they have moved on.
People enter the room. Hostile for some as yet unknown reason. The survivors attention now moves on to this new potential threat. That is, everyone’s attention except the Chinese man with the sad eyes.
He stands by the hole, lost in his world of sadness. Broken shards of glass hang from the remains of the window, gleaming around him with reflected sunlight. His back is to the thirty floor drop. He looks at me and I see the acceptance in his eyes. He spreads out his hands, and then falls back. Giving himself to death.
I understand. It was his only way out. No one had helped him. He could not help himself, and so he ended it.
The new people in the room are making their intentions known. They want something we cannot give them. It doesn’t matter though, because they want to use us as a bargaining tool. I know where this is heading. While their attention is held by the panicking survivors. I slip out of the room, somehow evading their notice. I make my way down stairs, many of them crumbling like the floor I have just left behind.
In a second I am on the ground floor outside. I know what is going to happen and make my way around to the front of the building to watch. Looking up I see the hole that consumed all those people.
Legs and arms flail as another body is forced out of the window. The new people are throwing the others out.
The wind catches hold of this latest victim as it falls. Rather than just drop, it flows across the street and bounces violently against another building. It bounces so hard that it makes it across the street again and slams into the building it just exited from. Then falls towards the hard concrete below.
At first it seems as though it will land on me. I panic but don’t move, the trajectory of this falling person is still uncertain. It speeds up and heads over to my left. With a hard thud the body smashes into the ground.
I look over to its landing place and see three men standing around in blue overalls. Two of them pick up the body and throw it on a pile of corpses. The Chinese man and the others who had been swallowed by the hole. Their bodies are now lifeless fodder piled high one on top of the other. My surprise has little time to turn to sadness as the scene fades, and I am elsewhere.
Crazy stuff huh? If that isn’t a Champix dream I don’t know what is! I have to say, despite the gruesome nature of it. I quite enjoyed the dream. Like Sarah said to me when I told it to her this morning.
“We get to do things in dreams we couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to do in real life.”
So I see it as an opportunity to experience something new, and wake up from it without life long scars. Thanks Champix, you chemical concoction of marvelous morbidity inducing dreams.
If you have any questions about, Champix (Chantix) and quitting smoking, travel, or why shaking doesn’t always mean no drippage, ask. I will be happy to help. If you would like to receive updates follow me by email, or like me on Facebook.