A word about dreams.
I dream of altered states. Only when I dream can I really feel all the pain and misery of depression when I am not actually depressed. And I have also, many times, dreamed of being manic. Likewise, it is only in a dream that I can conjure up the whole shebang. It feels so real. How relieved am I when I awake to my current stable mindframe?
Huh. Relieved beyond words of course.
Last night I was ‘celebrating’ Christmas with my family. Utter, abject self-loathing was the order of the day. But all I can clearly remember about the dream apart from the overwhelming sense of hopelessness and despair was my mum handing me a wad of cash, about £300. In an offhand manner.
I was like, why are you giving me this, I don’t want your freaking cash!
In my mind she was purely doing it out of guilt/pity. And it was ‘proof’ to me that even my freaking mum didn’t love me.
She just kinda shoved it in my direction as if to say here, worthless you. Maybe this’ll give you some worth.
I felt so outside everything. So alone. Aware of others going about their lives, yes, you see them. Caring to cook a Christmas meal, busying themselves about the house, somehow believing it’s all worthwhile and they’re not going to die in a ditch sometime fairly soon. They don’t appear from the outside to have a death sentence looming over their head.
My mum’s gesture seemed to be the embodiment of my own utter contempt for myself.
I honestly think this may be a little-considered factoid about dreams that should be brought to the attention of psychiatrists and psychologists etc. So madness comes from the unconscious right? What Freud called the Id? And in dreams we get to explore the unconscious mind. So it makes sense that I would be ‘processing’ my altered states in dreams. All of us process stuff in dreams. And I process my madness. The remarkable thing about it is how very real it feels.
In my conscious waking state I can NEVER experience, even imaginatively, the living Hell that is depression. It is effectively a living death that takes place in a completely different dimension from the norm. And mania too. It’s hard to conceive of the way I thought and the way I was, but in a dream? I’m right there.
This is why I tell you I am an interdimensional traveller by virtue of my manic depressive condition. Not to brag. Real talk.