Dreams

I don’t sleep much, or well, and when I do, I dream. I dream a lot. And even the good dreams are sad.

I dream about my demons. I dream about running away from this giant cloud/monster/villian of Depression; or at least trying to. Its too big. Its faster than me because its the size of a city block. Its like trying to outrun the weather. When it catches me I scream my head off at it and defiantly yell out why it can’t have me but it just grins its huge toothy scary grin and pins my arms to my sides. Nobody can hear me scream when I’m stuck like that. Nobody can see me struggling like Fay Wray. What’s more, nobody is concerned.

I dream about perpetually being on the verge of drowning. The water is always just above chin level and I can’t swim. There’s no escape from this room that slowly and noisily continues to fill with water. I panic a lot in my dreams.

I dream about being normal. I dream about eating a donut without fear. I dream I CAN run - my arms and legs and knees function correctly, and there’s no falling down for no reason, and my back doesn’t scream at me, and I can run across a field for no reason other than to be free. I dream about spending a whole day out and about without having any bathroom emergencies or “I need to hide before I freak out” episodes. I dream about loving and being loved and having relationships that don’t hinge upon how much of my illnesses the other person can handle. I dream about not being lonely. I dream about getting some sleep, and getting a hug, and smiling. I dream about not crying. I dream about not being alone.

I dream about the sweet oblivion relief of death. 

But to be honest, I live with these dreams when I’m awake. They don’t really wait for me to sleep. I don't sleep much.