From the author: when reprinting, please refer to the author, you can subscribe to new publications on the author’s page No, well, there are dreams like that - so that it’s not just horror, horror, oh horror, and so - endless horror?...Anna clearly wanted to talk about some kind of dream. For so long we have been working towards the nightly adventures of neuron switching beginning to remain in her memory and - now - it has happened! The pupils are dilated, clearly still under the impression. “Well,” I said calmly, and I myself was burning with curiosity, because this is progress, what a progress - the client began to contact his unconscious, with his dark part, hidden and suppressed. Let through horror. Otherwise, that part would knock differently and could not be heard. But to enter with such a knock - I was even surprised, however, at first it was a dream... And first I dream of a man, we communicate, then for some reason I watch different buildings collapse, one after another. And I myself am trying to control it, that is, to make sure that the building does not collapse. With all your eyes. Then it’s somehow gray around and there’s a burning smell, but the burning doesn’t suffocate. And a soldier appears and saves. Because I'm fainting. Then the line to which the soldier led me, for a piece of bread, as I thought, well, like in war - for starvation rations, and there for some reason everything at the window is so civilized - covered with clean napkins and two dispensers sitting in white caps, looking like waiters in a Viennese or Prague cafe and there is a dish with some candies and chocolates. I try to take a chocolate bar, cut off a piece of it and it crumbles even more on the plate. My hand directly catches the disapproving glances of the distributors, but hunger makes me frantically gather the scattered crumbs of the sweet bar into my fist. I am perplexed that why at such a time, instead of bread, they give out some kind of sweets, from which you will not be full. Then I somehow find myself in the car and we are driving along a long, good road, and a whole army is paraded along the road to meet us - and behind them is a beauty and a guy. They are also in the procession, but only after everyone else, as if, like sports teams, there are “mascots,” but only behind for some reason. Beauty in a white dress. And I begin to sympathize with her situation, her beauty. I don’t remember any events afterwards. Then I find myself in a room that turns out to be a bathhouse. And I look in the mirror in the dressing room. And then the cat appears nearby. And here is the worst thing. I remember that there are evil spirits in the bathhouse. And then I tell myself – no, these are fairy tales and I look in the mirror, and there – there I am, but not me. There is the face of Baba Yaga. White, wrinkled, but as if wearing a mask. Like from children's fairy tales. I don’t show that I’m afraid, I go into the bathhouse. And I feel Her presence. And before entering the bathhouse, the cat with dilated pupils looked over my shoulder. And then the horror began. The voice is like that, but not from the outside, but somehow inside, as if - “Well, you’re not afraid - okay, okay. Let’s play…” and I begin to feel how the skin on my sides begins to hang down and hang down, like the weight between my shoulder blades is twisting me. I continue to straighten up, try and hide the horror. I want to wake up and then it starts to get even worse - one of my breasts has become heavy and large, and the other has become small, like when I was eleven years old, when I was just a girl. And I keep hearing someone laughing and mocking in the background. I’m angry - give me back what’s mine, give back my breasts, and there’s laughter and something - and when was that yours? And then I felt a heaviness in one breast. There it was as if she began to feel the stone and it really was such a stone. I scream - why? Why do I need it? - And this is melancholy for you. So that there is. Then I tried to wake up as soon as possible, but it was as if something continued to hold me there. Then I woke up. Yes, ah, I thought, either “I don’t see dreams at all,” or just a whole army. And the feeling of horror was there throughout the entire dream and towards the end it became unbearable to feel it, as Anna said. And how many years would psychoanalysis take to sort them out? Here there is self-identification, and living through age-related crises, and relationships with men, and meeting a shadow, and somehow=32812