What Dreams Speak

Last night, I have a strange dream.

For one, I am not even my friend’s home where I live now, but in a house for the mentally ill.  I am in my room during the morning period talking to a man named Travis, who is one of the orderlies working the morning.  I can’t hear his voice, yet I can hear mine.  For some reason, I have this feeling that I’m something invisible is watching me and have been for a while.  I’m telling the orderly this and I tell that I’m not being believed—that whatever I’m saying to Travis is going into one ear and out the other.

Nevertheless, my tone is calm and I feel extremely comfortable in the house—in my room—wearing my pajamas.  When he leaves, I try to close my door, but I find that am unable to. Soon after, I hear a low rumbling demonic voice as the gap in my door becomes wider.  I attempt to push back with all the strength I have, but the invisible force prevents me from closing my bedroom door.

Suddenly, I feel my feet lift off the floor and my legs are floating in the air.  I’m calling for help—especially from a man named Travis. Next, I’m floating out of my room, levitating in front of three men—Travis included.

The Lone Gunmen
The Lone Gunmen–none of them are named Travis.

That is when I wake up.

I haven’t had a nightmare (if you can deem it that) in three months and before that for about a few years.  I will admit that my depression and anxiety has grown worse since the beginning of 2016, but even that doesn’t explain why I feel like an X-File episode waiting to happen.

Then I put two and two together.

Hours before, I have been envisioning my entire future, wondering what my next move should be.  For the past two weeks, I have been going through mixtures of danger, fear, and a sense of being overwhelmed after because I feel as if I have my back against the wall.  To make matters worse, I’m now exposed to the profiles of the couple who sexually assaulted me a year ago (I have blocked them in the past but because I have created a new Facebook page, they of course can easily find me unless I block them again). So I visit the male’s profile and become embittered because not only does he not care about the pain he inflicted, but will get away with it as well as his girlfriend.

I worry about my businesses—or whatever I’m trying to do—will have an impact on anyone one of these days.  Then I feel guilty for having such a selfish thought—for being ungrateful when I shouldn’t be.  I myself have no answers and I feel as if I am shutting down mentally, emotionally and even physically.  And, though I have choices, my brain is so befogged with untreated ADD and depression that every solution that pops into my mind is either unhealthy, illegal or just plain triflin.’

Jesus…bail money doesn’t come outta thin air, Meeka.

Meanwhile, my cat son Tobias is lying at my feet paying attention to none of this.  So I pet him just to calm myself down.

As I write this post, I’m thinking about what every part of my dream represents.  Travis is my skeptic—the medical and mental health professionals who believe that I’m over exaggerating when all I want is help.  The invisible force is my Dark Passenger attempting to possess me and my entire life.  The levitation is the overwhelming feeling I experience when my depression takes over.  And the three men standing at the stairs watching everything represent the professionals seeing my truth for themselves.

The truth of the matter is that nightmares (or any sort of dream) is our brain’s why of expressing the unspoken. I personally feel as if I am not receiving the treatment I need in order to get better.  The PROS Program is amazing, but without the proper medication needed to help me manage my ADD, depression and emotion regulation, I will not be able to become the real me.

Which is the reason why I have to continue to talk to my therapist, chant, and do everything I can to reach out to people who struggle the way I do.  Because, if not, the dreams will only become worse.  And I can’t have that.


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