Dreams have always been interesting to me. They prompt so many questions:
Where do they come from? What influences the content? Do they have meaning in our life?
But dreams during depression are different.
Day in, day out, the darkness from depression has me looking towards nightfall.
But the anxiety of depression makes me fear my dreams.
I fear the theme, characters, plot and outcomes my dreams my contain.
My dreams are like playing Russian Roulette these days. and I’m addicted to the gamble.
I’m drawn in by potential in you being the star. The dreams where we’re still together give me hope and happiness. The plot and surroundings of these romantic tails never make much sense in retrospect.
But in the moment, it feels like ecstasy. I get lost in you. Lost in what could have been, what could be. The glow that I ignored until it disappeared.
But then I wake up.
The movie theater is empty and I’m all alone.
Feeling more hopeless than the moment I went to bed the night before.
So I desperately try to get back into the theater. To get another dose of being with you.
And sometimes, I’m able to sneak in.
But it doesn’t last long. It’s like the last sip of a drink.
And then I wake up.
Experiencing the agony of missing you again.
But It’s more than just missing you. Its missing the momentary escape from my pain. All day and night, I long to be elsewhere. to float in-between death and life.
The only time I get this relief is during the dreams.
The dreams that I’m a miserable addict for.
And the cycle starts all over again.