Dear Bad Dream

I woke up this morning panicked. It was three-thirty in the morning, and I’d had a bad dream. It wasn’t my recurring dream (where I get chased up a lighthouse, with no escape in sight); it wasn’t about some horrible monster or accident. Rather, it was a dream that reflected my real-life frustrations, about trying to connect with someone important, to no avail. I had never ever woken up in tears before, but there I was, with a literal, physical pain in my chest, out of breath, and with tears streaming down my face. I scared myself so much that I would not allow myself to fall asleep again. Instead, I lay there, enduring a buzz in my ear, my heart thumping a hundred and fifty beats per minute. When I rolled out of bed four hours later, I felt like a paranoid zombie.

I’m still restless, ill at ease. Had a visit after work with a friend, and enjoyed his great cookies and a steaming hot cup of tea. All the while, the dream hovered in the back of my brain. I don’t want to sleep tonight, for fear of waking up in the same perturbed state again. I thought maybe if I acknowledged the dream, and set it free, it would take its liberty and fly away.

Dear Bad Dream,

You paid me a very unwelcome visit last night. In fact, you had made me cry. And no one makes me cry other than myself. Hadn’t I endured enough this past week, with my persistent headache? Are you so mean-spirited that you could not pick a different time to enter my subconscious, perhaps a time when I feel less fragile and am better-equipped to deal with you?

I want you to know that yes, I see you, even in my conscious state of “awakeness,” that you have wormed your way in and poisoned my day. What do you want from me? You want me to look deep within myself and do something about my current state of discontent, right? You want me to seize the moment, and live without regret? You want me to think less, worry less? How could I? Your appearance has made me think more and worry more.

In the past week, since coming back from my winter vacation, I’ve been trying to do exactly what you want from me. I’ve been distracting myself by playing music, and by reading. Aren’t you at least a little proud of me that I’ve tinkered my way through the third movement of the “Moonlight” sonata? But, that impossibly quick passage just reminds me of the thundering turmoil within. And the book that I’ve been reading seems to reflect my own troubles, the protagonist seems the spitting image of me, someone incapable of dealing with her past, incapable of sharing herself, in constant fear of losing people. Perhaps you had been born out of the notes of the sonata and the words from Crow Lake.

I just want you to know that, until I have decided what to do with you, I would appreciate if you would stop visiting. I don’t need more questions right now – I ask myself enough of them, and have yet to come up with viable responses. You’re free to go, to roam the dream worlds of other people. I’m sure other people’s subconscious meadows and oceans and blue skies might even do you good, so that the next time you visit me, I could wake up smiling.

Regards,
Me