Anxiety

Let’s Talk About Dreams

 

 

In case we haven’t all noticed, apparently these crappy doodles I’m doing on my phone are going to become a staple part of these posts. Enjoy!

Okay, so I actually spent 2 hours deciding whether to write this post or not. I guess because some people might think some shit in it is too much info? Whatever the reason my anxiety is trying to stop me from writing and posting this (you know in case people think I’m a weirdo (like that’s new?) and shun me but ultimately in case they get the people in white coats to take me away). It’s not going to win though.

So-

Today I want to talk about dreams and how my anxiety has gotten to a point where it’s affecting them.

Now by dreams I don’t mean my dreams of becoming a writer, I’m not talking about the kind that see’s you wanting to become something else. The kind that talk about ambitions and aspirations. I’m talking about the kind you have when your asleep.

Now I know what you’re thinking ‘anxiety dreams’ are obvious, and there’s an obvious cause and they’re usually scary. I’m not talking about dreams about anxiety though I’m talking about how anxiety affects those everyday dreams, those once fantastical fantasies that helped me escape the day.

And you guessed it, I’m writing this right now because last night I had a dream. I am both happy and pissed off about said dream. Why? Because it turned from me flirting and y’know enjoying the company of an actor who (in the words of Ginger Minge) makes me flood my basement.

Image result for flood my basement gif

Anyway it turns from me about to snog them.

To me being an awkward fumbling mess of barely being able to talk to them and asking their friend (a fellow actor), if they found me annoying, if everyone on set found me annoying.

Rather than being the fantasy version of myself, confident and whom people, monsters, characters, actors, people I would be unworthy to kiss the feet of, notice and actively take an interest in. Allowing me on the adventure with them. I suddenly turned into the highschool/college version of myself. Crippled with the knowledge that everyone found me annoying and no boy (because I didn’t understand I was also attracted to women at this point) would ever fancy me when there were much better girls on offer.

This has been happening more and more frequently in my dreams. I’d say it started a few years ago but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when.

It’s most noticeable in those uhm- more pleasant- oh who am I kidding? Those slightly filthy, almost filthy or potentially pornographic dreams about actors/characters that are just too sexy for their own good.

You know the ones I mean, the ones where you and your favourite actor/actress/character/singer etc. are smooching or they’re slamming you into a wall in a fit of passion. Yes it’s most noticeable in those dreams.

It used to be a case for me that these dreams, though few, would always be epic, fun and more importantly very very very pleasant.

Now however there’s a few scenarios that usually take hold at a pivotal moment and force the scene to rewind and replay with this new version of me;

  1. I am suddenly reminded of my boyfriend. and the single status of the fantasy/celebrity/dream me is stripped away. Forcing me to either dream cheat (which rarely ever happens) or walk away. Which happens 99% of the time.
    I just want to point out that I love my boyfriend very much, I’ve been with him almost 9 years. I’m very happy and very far from any single status in reality. Fantasy me is just that- a work of fiction- in my head, mostly my dreams, occasionally daydreams and honestly if you don’t have a fantasy you who can snog say- Colin Firth in a daydream I feel sorry for you.

  2. Dream me goes from the fun, smart, sexy mostly because of her confidence fantasy version of me to a suped up pathetic version of the anxiety and insecurity riddled mess I can be.
  3. Finally, and this may be the worst one. My dream sees fit to suddenly remind me of how reality would play out. In reality, if I ended up in said world with said character, I would not be significant enough to gain interaction with said character. I would be nothing but an extra, not even a glorified one. Just someone pouring coffee.

My own brain won’t even let me be a star in my own fantasies anymore and that translates across a lot of genres. In horror dreams I’m a bit part, in a group of survivors and most likely to die, sometimes repeatedly. In adventure dreams I’m the tag along, just there to hold the book whilst someone much cleverer than me reads from it.

What makes it all so frustrating is that my dreams run like movies and they are rich and full of life, colour and sounds. They are fleshed out and fantastical and they are a joy for me. One of the only reasons I enjoy sleeping. It’s so frustrating because it never used to be like this. My dreams used to be vivid with me at the centre. I was the star, I was the main character, I was the voice and I was all those characters I’ve ever loved.

I have no doubt the change is linked to my anxiety. It’s seeping into my dreams like some sort of Freddie Kreuger monster and snagging my imagination in it’s clutches. It’s shrouding a once happy place filled with life and love with fear and panic.

Maybe it’s because I do try to ignore my anxiety that it’s happening?

Maybe it’s my subconscious’s way of saying bitch you need to take charge of this?

Anyone else had anxiety dream problems? Or am I calling into the void?

 

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