Dream Writing: Psychiatric Stay

Early this morning I dreamt I had just woken from a deep drug-induced sleep in a psychiatric hospital. I had been admitted for reasons unknown to me. From what people were telling me, I gathered I’d had a mental breakdown. A woman helped me dress and gather my things.

Someone had dropped off a pair of vibrant green Toms for me to wear home. I don’t own green Tom’s. I looked at them sitting on the floor beside a chair and thought a) green is my favorite color, and b) Tom’s are a comfortable, logical choice of footwear for leaving a psych ward to return to “normal.”

My sister, Amber, came to pick me up. I felt tired, hazy, and weak. She talked to me as I was wheeled outside. I asked her where we were. She told me it was the psych ward of the University of Phoenix (don’t all for-profit universities for working adults have psychiatric units? Dreams are weird). She said she’d called everywhere to find the only opening available when I was in need.

I was still unclear on the why of all of this.

The dream shifted, and I was now sitting on a sofa as my sisters bustled around, handling things. I wasn’t at my home, but in someone else’s home. Jeff and my children didn’t seem to be in the picture. Nor were my parents. It was just my sisters and me and they were taking care of business around me.

In the dream, I felt bleary, dependent, and not in control. I couldn’t remember why all of this was happening.

Today I keep returning to this strange dream, because my dreams traditionally have taught me on a subconscious, spiritual level.

What does it all mean?

While my interpretations clearly don’t have a central thesis, here are a few musings:

  • My sisters rallied around me and helped me when I needed it. Despite our different lives, my sisters and I have an undercurrent of concern and support.
  • I am a person, distinct from my role as a mother or wife. I am me. I’m an individual with emotional core that at times feels tough, at times fragile.
  • People cared about me enough to help when I couldn’t.
  • My usual role was switched. I am typically one who calls, explores, Googles, reads, takes care, organizes, arranges. This time I was on the receiving end.
  • Jack quite possibly always feels the frustrating weakness of dependency that I felt in my dream. This is an eye-opening thought.
  • Someone left me a pair of comfy shoes in my favorite, life-giving color, to wear home. I think this means I am loved.
  • Also, I’m intrigued that I think about shoes subconsciously. I don’t know what this says about me. Maybe I don’t want to know.
  • I didn’t like my inability to remember. Perhaps I feel emotional dissonance at times (like life on earth) where I can’t remember the beginning, where I often feel weak and dependent.
  • I was never alone in my dream. I think this is true of mortality, even when we (I) feel alone. There are always helpers. But even if there aren’t, God sees and Jesus knows, and they both choose me.

It’s a mystery to untangle my dream life.

I like mysteries.

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