A few nights ago, I had a complicated dream that had many beautiful and creative moments. But the intensity came from the end of the dream, in which I drove aimlessly through a parking lot and then backed my car into a deep pond. As my car tipped, I wondered how I thought I'd get the car door open with the pressure of the water. I realized, of course, that I didn't intend to. I also realized that I had done this before but somehow survived and repressed the memory.
I think I know where this part of the dream originated. I've been thinking lately about my hallucinations. They've returned recently though a new medication is quieting them. My most recent one was auditory, which I don't experience often. I was sitting in my chair with my back to Oliver's room. I heard someone approach on the level of a child. I heard breathing and then a snicker. It didn't sound like a child. I had thought that perhaps Oliver had gotten out of bed, but that clearly wasn't so, and when I turned, nothing was there. I felt--waterlogged. I realized that this feeling is common when I have hallucinations: I feel as if I'm underwater--not clean, clear water but green, murky water. Everything feels slow and labored even as my brain does something it shouldn't be able to do. And when the illusion ends, I feel as if I'm coming out of water, my hair plastered to my face, my ears and mouth full. And I can't escape quickly from the hold of what happened. Thinking of this metaphor may have sent me to the pond in my dream.
