I don’t usually remember my dreams, but the last two nights the emotions of them have woke me up and stuck with me. The night before last I had a beautifully lucid dream (at the time). I was with my brother and sister at my mom’s house. It was a treasure hunt of things I loved as a child. Everywhere I looked I found a piece of my childhood: a messy staple of papers filled with my little drawings and stories, a toy or book I loved, a photograph, an eye roll at mom. I remember laughing with my siblings with sentences filled with “remember when…” I woke up missing my siblings. I woke up wanting to remember the exact items I found, knowing they were a piece of puzzle to solve my biggest question of late: What do I want to do with my life?
Last night, or really just moments ago, I woke up from an anxiety dream. I don’t remember any details, just the feelings of running around, never getting enough done, my chest still feels tight. My body, my subconscious, my entire being has taken fistfuls of jabs the last couple of weeks. At first I was strong because I felt I had to be for everyone else. Then I got depressed. Then sick. Now I’m angry, scared and not sleeping well. Part of me feels I have the right to grieve, and other part of me feels like I need to get out of bed, get out of my anxious head, and just go full stream ahead. I’ll snap back and feel more like myself soon, I hope. In the meantime, I hope my dreams provide me a little more direction.