Dreams are tools. Yes, even the bad ones.

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It’s 5am and I’ve awoke from a bad dream. Usually, I have a drive to incoherently jot it all out and share giant paragraphs that I’ll later regret because I sound crazy. The worst ones are when I send a Facebook message or text with a giant verbal diarrhea of a wall of text that they played a crucial part in my dream! Or worse, I blog about it or spam my social media with it for all to see. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened for quite some time. (queue the irony)

Zombies, bad people trying to kill me, monsters, my mother’s abusive ex husband. For as long as I can remember, I ran. Guns would never work, the triggers were harder to pull than the difficulty pressing buttons in dreams. In one dream, I was shot and killed. I had a bit of 4th wall breakage while everything was black, and well, I was dead, and told myself, “you could always come back as a zombie”, so, I did (while continuing to be shot, but invincible).

This last year my dreams have been changing. Firearms work, I can defend myself. The contents of my bad dreams still consist of me running, hiding from something, but when I’m cornered – I’m able to generally fight back. I was supremely surprised that the dream I just awoke from contained my mother’s ex-husband trying to hurt me, pinning me down – but I made him go away by pressing my firearm against his temple.

The remainder of the dream consisted of numerous characters that have been infected by a virus, turning them bloodthirsty.  The survivors and I fended off wave and wave of attack, I was able to drop them with a few well placed shots. This went on in various detail, scenes and difficulty until I finally ran out of ammo and couldn’t find anymore. I was finally trapped while a mutated dog came sniffing in and I hid in a bathroom, locking myself in.

As with most of my bad dreams, I awoke myself before I “knew” that it would bust in and get me as the dread sat in. I’m thankful that I’m often an active dreamer.


Apart from the specifics, I think that dreams can be a peek into our deeper psychological states if not taken verbatim (and excusing the outliers). A lifetime of just running, hiding, and dying turned into being able to fight back (through hand to hand brute force, gnarly stuff like knives and pressing out eyeballs), to now more effective means of defense against my pursuers such as firearms. I’ve also noticed that I seem to have friendly agents more often in my dreams.

As someone who is a survivor of childhood abuse with a lifelong case of Anxiety and Agoraphobia, it makes sense to me that I’ve really never had a “good dream” that I can remember. Being chased, running, hiding, unable to stand up for myself, these are deep rooted demons that connect me to my inner-child.

Which upon reflecting upon my dreams, I can say that my self-confidence has improved this last year. Let’s keep at it ❤

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