Venting: Torturous Dreams

I’ve always loved to dream. Ever since I can remember, I have had vivid, colorful journeys across space and time after I close my eyes at night. I escaped to countries that don’t exist, flown across cities, and even took a trip into space once or twice. With medicine, my dreams got even more vivid. I used to think I was insane because of how messed up some of my dreams got, but my grandma assured me it was just a sign of great creativity. I willingly accepted her explanation.

When times are tough, however, my dreams get nasty. I get murdered, stabbed, tortured. My worst fears come to life. With vivid, lifelike dreams, comes both amazing adventures and terrifying nightmares. To me, that’s still worth it.

Last night, I had two dreams I can recall, both of them involving not getting into this PHP program. People may think I’m overreacting about this program, but to me it is life and death. Without it, I will have to admit myself to the local psych hospital and probably have to stay inpatient, because if I don’t, there’s no telling where my complete breakdown will lead. The second dream shook me the most. Normally, I am aware of the fact that I am dreaming, that my alternate reality is not in fact my reality. However, after waking myself up in my first dream, I apparently woke up into my second dream thinking it was reality.

I was in the hospital waiting room for another appointment when I got the call. I told them I had to take the call and I went out into a quiet hallway to talk. They immediately told me I didn’t get in and I dropped my phone. I instantly fell to the floor in shock. I was crying like I have never cried before. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. The hallway suddenly became busy and the people stepped over me and pointed and laughed. The nurses walked right past me and told me I was a joke for thinking I had it bad enough to need to be in a PHP program. No one was helping me.

I tried to wake myself up, to no avail. I remembered that I had woken myself up from my first dream, so this must be real life. I began telling the nurses I was going to kill myself and they supplied me with the pills to do it. They laughed and told me I wasn’t worth taking up a bed in the ER or the psych hospital, even if I was going to commit suicide.

I eventually woke myself up and I was curled in a ball, crying my eyes out. I was so shaken. My grandma, who is very into dreams and spirituality, once told me that every character in your dreams represent a part of yourself and I believe that wholeheartedly. Every aspect of my being was represented in that dream and I cannot get away from those parts of me anymore, not at night and certainly not during the day.

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