A short, personal story about the effects of a particularily inspiring dream.
|Where I am now is...not a pleasant place.
Every day is a battle against the waves of depression that smash relentlessly against the walls of my psyche. People like me, who honestly want to escape and build a better life for themselves, must struggle against every burnout and mental case that can’t or won’t. Malaise hangs in the air, a cloud of gloom that creeps into every corner and exhausts all who breathe it in. With it sapping away my energy, every action I take is done with the weight of dozens of wasted lives pressing down upon me. This is a gutter of society, where people congregate after being washed away by the pouring rain of life’s troubles.
Many here turn to nicotine, alcohol, or other, less savory substances to relieve themselves of their burdens, and I do not begrudge their sources of comfort. Still, sleep is my drug of choice, the only way I can hope to forget where life has led me. Yet it provides little comfort, as the few moments I manage to spend unconscious are filled with visions of this awful place. They loop and repeat, changing ever so slightly with every viewing. So close are they to what I see in my waking hours, I worry about losing the ability to separate dreams and reality. The aura of this place is so strong it seeps into my unconscious mind, giving me no escape from its clutches. Night after night another piece of my sanity splinters and falls away as I face the day’s demons once more, never getting the rest I need to overcome them.
Last night I believed another endless series of draining images would assail me. For many hours I drifted in and out of consciousness, begging my mind to stop the torturous withholding of a good night’s sleep. But just as I had resigned myself to another restless night, I had a dream. A beautiful, rejuvenating dream the likes of which I feared I would never experience again. It was strange and convoluted, like most dreams are, and most of it dissolved into mist when I awoke. Still, one moment remained etched into my memory.
There was a woman. I can’t remember much about her, except that she was the most beautiful person I’d ever laid eyes on, and I cared about her so deeply putting it into words would shame the world's most epic love ballads. At one point we embraced, and as I rested my chin on her shoulder and felt her soft, warm body held tightly against mine, everything in the world fell into perfect alignment. We fit together perfectly, two puzzle pieces that finally discovered their place. What we had between us formed a shield no trouble could ever hope to shatter.
It’s bittersweet to recall that moment, because I know she was only a dream. I know that what happened was entirely within my mind, and I still wake up to a place that seeks every day to grind life and hope from my body. Still, that one perfect moment rings clear in my mind like the sweetest of bells. Though ephemeral, that embrace has provided me with a goal and the resolve to reach it. I swear upon all that is sacred to me that I will make that dream manifest in reality. I will trudge through the coldest winter nights and endure the hottest flames of Hell, all in the hope that I will someday feel once more what I felt then. To experience something that pure, it is worth the risk of a life filled with pain and suffering. Maybe I have finally lost the last of my sanity to risk so much for a dream, but I can’t help but think that anyone who even came close to obtaining that feeling would do the same.
Truly it is better to have love and lost, as even lost love can be a guide in the darkest of moments. Think not about what you have lost, but what you once had, and how it may find you once more.