Dreams

I think I've only had one really good dream in my whole life.  To be sure, it was an incredible dream; it even made it to my journal, it was so good.  It was extraordinary, though, and I mean that in the most literal sense.  Most of my dreams, you see, are actually what many people would call nightmares.  For example, last night, I was robbed for the fifth time this year.  Also, someone tried to kill me.

It's not new.  In fact, nightmares are the status quo for me.  They are so common that it seems odd not to call them dreams.  I've been chased by murderers in my home and at church; I've experienced the deaths of several people I love; and I've witnessed other traumatic events that I'll never talk about.  Some of them I can't even remember -- all I know is that I've woken up a couple of times in tears.  Sobs, in fact -- sobs so loud that I was afraid I woke my roommate, too.  And I couldn't stop crying for several minutes afterward.

I wonder if this is something that runs in families because my mom has nightmares, too.  Or maybe it's because I have high anxiety and don't get enough sleep.  Or maybe it's all three.  Whatever the case, I hope it doesn't last my whole life; I'm tired of running away from people with knives.  (It's always knives.)


Thing I'm thankful for: waking up in a safe place