Dreams: Crazy portals in our brain

Dreams can be crazy little portals into what the hell is going on in your brain. I just wish I could feel rested the next day instead of exhausted as if I physically endured what unfolded in my mind. It was a wild ride last night and honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it all.

 


It always feels as if I dozed off and suddenly even violently awoke in my dreams. This was no different. I looked around at a room of family and friends in a strangely large house as it seemed to have many floors. Maybe it was a hotel but it felt more as if it was someone’s home. We were about in the middle on the maybe ten story house watching a movie or something, (which was odd in itself.) A tornado siren wailed outside and everyone jumped up and headed to the stairway.  Someone yelled this stairway only went up so we would all have to go up and then across to another stairway to make it to the basement for safety. I was in the back making sure everyone was there when I couldn’t find my son. Panic raged through me and I called him, searched for him and everyone else was just gone. Saving themselves. I ran up the stair way and checked every floor screaming for him. He’s non-verbal so I don’t know what I was expecting.

On the tenth floor, having trouble breathing I searched the floor and in a bedroom I found him crying holding his blanket and tablet. I couldn’t figure out why he was up there so far away? I scooped him up in my arms and cried with relief that I had found him. My little dog barked at the window. Until I wiped my eyes away and saw outside the tornado nearing us. I slid my boots on, grabbed my large overnight bag and quickly grabbed what I could. I threw my climbing gear on my back, a sling bag over my shoulder with ropes and a grappling hook and a bag that strapped around my waist and thigh. I picked up my son and ran out of the door, the siren screaming or maybe it was the wind? The building shook fighting for its life as well as I ran down a stairwell. My dog followed but was terrified and stopped in a corner. I scooped her up and threw her in my bag, we didn’t have time and I wasn’t leaving her behind. I ran carrying my son, his most precious belongings and my dog down stairs until the ended and into another hallway.

We never made it to the basement. The house was hit by large debris ruining much of it but was still standing. I remember letting my dog out of the bag while clutched on to Aiden, walking up to a nearby window seeing so much destruction. It looked as if everything had dropped ten feet below the house. Out to the left there was a deep crater where a few dogs where attempting to climb out. On the right it now looked like a hill of the transferred soil and debris. People in swat gear were climbing it being led by a handful of german shepherds which made my dog bark relentlessly. At least they knew we were here. I thought knowing the way we came, the stairway was destroyed and the house felt unsteady at this point.

I watched the people working to free the survivors in the basement. I set my son down to pull out my rope and tools and put my dog in their place. I hooked the grappling hook onto something sturdy nearby and attached it to one rope as we were still quite a ways up. The other rope I wrapped around my son and myself, making sure he was secured to me. I dropped the large bag out the window, climbed out and began our descend. My dog barked unhappy about her circumstances but my son smiled at me and enjoyed the ride, holding me tight with so much wonder and life in his eyes and I lowered us to safety like Fessik in reverse.

 


I woke up in the middle of the night. Well it was the middle of the night for me I suppose. It was about five a.m. and my son had woken up and needed to use the bathroom and wanted something to drink. Feeling a little more centered going through the motions of 5 a.m. motherhood. I laid back in bed and surprisingly I quickly fell asleep. Usually I would start the same dream over or perhaps partly through to learn another piece of the puzzle of what happens next. I dreamed, just not the same one. It seems I dream like this most often when I argue with my family or my stress levels increase throughout a single day.


I was in a building much different from the first. This building was cold. It felt like it was underground of a hospital or something similar. It felt as I was not suppose to be.

I was walking into a door in what looked like white scrubs with a large white hood thinking, almost there. “Almost where?” I mumbled to myself under my breath. I walked into a large room with 30-50 people with my head down as my feet led me (as if they knew where they were going) toward a glass door with a key swipe fab. I waited until someone else exited and squeezed through, locking it behind me. Two girls laid strapped to tables in similar attire. I pulled my hood back recognizing them though I couldn’t say who they were. I grabbed a large silver bed pan nearby and slammed it against the man’s face leaning over the first girl’s bed. He crashed to the floor unconscious causing alarm outside the door’s. Guards were yelling, people were running and lights began to flash wildly. I removed the IV’s and unstrapped each girl. “Can you stand?”

“We will manage. Thank you.”

“Where is she?” I asked looking at the empty third bed.

“They moved her, out of the facility I heard.”

“Time to go.” I said with such sadness as whoever I intended to save was not there. We armed ourselves with nearby items as I stole the man’s swipe card. We unlocked the door surrounded by a few guards, rushing them barely making it passed them. We ran through the screaming people nearby and excited the first door the sunlight came through with the key card.

We ran through woods and walked along a strange deep river filled with strange whales which resembled bass fishing lures with large bumps on the top of them that looked like giant purple carnations in a mass group on the front top of their heads. I thought they looked misplaced but I could feel them traveling with me the way the crows always do on my walks and it felt comforting somehow.

We ended up on a beautiful street in the city on a large from lawn in front of an even bigger house, painted in tans and browns with large pillars in front and a wrap around porch. It felt oddly familiar. I stared for a while until one of the girls brought my attention to a tree on the front yard the furthest from the house. Magnificently gigantic with branches as elegant as a dancer. Balloons were trapped in it all over, their ribbons wrapped around branches and tangled in its leaves. The balloons seemed to have names on the them but I couldn’t make them out. A light breeze rushed me I closed my eyes until I heard a branch snap and watched a balloon begin to fall, catching the breeze. I chased it, tackling it to the ground. I turned it over to find it was my name on, “Happy Birthday, Andrea!” I turned back to the house as two women I recognized with love in my soul echoing back, came walking down the front steps of the house. Except, these women looked to be at least 30 years younger than they are now, rushing to embrace me. We changed into something more comfortable, jeans and black shirts or tanks and boots. I wanted to stay but I couldn’t and i don’t really know why. It felt like home but my mission was to save this girl, I didn’t even remember. We embraced, cried a little and the red head whispered into my ear something and my eyes lit up. I can’t remember what she said but it felt important.

We returned to walk down the path near the river. We came upon a little town and when we saw the words “Bar” and “Food,” the girls insisted we go. Reluctantly I agreed. Inside our eyes met with a man, the same man that had exited the door at the facility where I snuck in to save them. He smirked at me. Floored I launched at him, taking him to the ground. “Where is she?” I demanded.

“She’s gone.” He paused before saying, “They killed her.”

“No!” My soul felt as if it caught its breath for a moment. I grabbed a nearby beer bottle and smashed it against the floor near his face and held it to his throat, “You mean you did?”

“No. I tried to save her. Sure for myself but I did try. The worst part is, they will do it again. They will do it again tomorrow and the day after.” I dropped the bottle. Rocked him in the face as hard as my fist would allow, crumbling onto the ground.

It was in that moment I realized the girl I was searching for, was me.

 


 

 

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XO

 

Drea

This is what depression looks like

This is what depression looks like:

© Andrea DiGiglio
© Drea DiGiglio
This is what depression feels like (to me anyway.)
It’s more than the really bad days of not being able to get out of bed. The idea of getting out of bed is exhausting. Not showering for days on end and not giving a rat’s ass about it. Not eating for days or perhaps the opposite and shoveling food mindlessly and probably guilt tripping yourself for it every step of the way. Its not just the days where you cannot muster the strength to get out of bed. It’s the days where you feel like that but you do get out of bed, too.
If you have kids, you still have to get them ready for school and take them to their appointments. Sure, maybe your in sweats instead of actual clothes but who cares. You clearly don’t. If you work, you work. You don’t socialize, you don’t count the minutes. You just work and you’re not entirely sure if you’re grateful it’s over because you hate working but now what the fuck are you going do with your time? Every activity takes effort. Every activity. The world looks as if it is tinted in a lower temperature color. Food doesn’t taste as good. You drink, whether it’s to be numb or shut the noise in your head up or just to feel, settled. Or perhaps some other alternative to cope.
Your body and you argue. You’re sore for no reason or just tired all of the time. Or both.
At first you say how you feel. Then you feel like a burden. Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t. You take care of everyone except yourself because all you are trying to do at this point is survive. This is usually the point when people bring up the things you do (or don’t do) because you’re depressed, because you seem to always be depressed and yes you’re already aware of them. When people bring them up a feeling erupts, a cross between; feeling guilty and angry. Guilty for your behavior or lack there of and that they noticed and want you to know they noticed. Anger because you now feel as if your feelings are no longer valid and only their feelings are and why not just do it instead of making me feel bad about it because obviously on this day I am struggling?
People who love you try to understand and maybe they really do. But let’s be honest it’s annoying when a family member isn’t contributing or is grumpy, sad or angry all of the time.
So you stop saying how you feel. It’s too hard to continuously repeat yourself and it’s not going away, it just keeps coming back. So you smile. You laugh. You try to, fake it till you make it.
Then people like us see these smiling photos stream across social media. Smiling, happy. All the while suffering. Enduring. Fighting. They don’t know they aren’t alone.

So, apparently. This is what depression looks like. We put makeup on so we can feel normal, look normal and maybe to fake it. Maybe it’s so the people in our lives will stop asking if we are okay because no, we are not okay. Maybe we don’t wan’t the shame and guilt of feeling how we feel. Maybe we are just too damn depressed to have another conversation about it. Today I am not okay and that is okay. Just maybe, tomorrow I will be and that smile might be real. If it’s not? I suppose you might not really be able to tell because we live in a world where those who carry the burden of a mental illness feel like a burden. It’s not just the words people say it’s their actions time and time again. Actions which do not say, “I understand you are suffering.” Rather say, “When will this end this time so the ‘real you’ will be back” (For them.) The longer someones struggle is with their disorder, the longer they suffer. The less patient I find people to be. It’s a sad world I find us to be in. Where those who always have the kindest of hearts are often the most broken.

Much love to you all, be kind to one another. Keep fighting through the darkness and know you are worth fighting for, your life is worth fighting for. The good days are worth it. Don’t give up.

XO
-Andrea