Weird Dreams

I have a lot of weird, bad dreams when I am depressed. The most recent was that I drank too much, swore at Leslie’s mom for saying James and I were secretly dating, and then called my old babysitter, D.R. at like 2 in the morning. She called my mom to ask about it the next day, and I was too embarrassed to explain what happened. I also had an exam due that afternoon, but I missed the deadline because the printing lab had people taking an exam in it. The husband of one of my professors (he is also a professor) was at our apartment for some reason. The exam I did not finish was for his wife. He said she graded easy and not to worry because she would accept late work. I couldn’t remember anything from the night before, and I didn’t even remember drinking that much. I just remembered my friends making me drink more and laughing at me. The whole dream I felt guilty for everything I did, but everyone was being nice to me. Leslie’s mom gave me a hug and said she knew I was drinking, so she wasn’t offended, but she was worried about me. Then they decided to do a cat scan on my brain to see if I had a concussion because my head had been hurting so long (I went to bed with a headache and woke up with one). Everyone was laughing because I told the nurse how I didn’t think I drank that much the night before but I didn’t remember anything and behaved totally out of control. I said, “I must have a concussion, but I don’t remember hitting my head.” I just remember lying in the tunnel, thinking how much I wish they would tell me I had a concussion—just to know I had an excuse for what happened. I felt so guilty. I needed an excuse to keep going. I woke up before the results. It’s funny because I don’t think they even give cat scans for concussions. It all felt so real. I feel guilty even thinking about it right now. I keep thinking, “That was too real and complex for a dream. Did any of that really happen?” Logically, I know it did not. It doesn’t take Freud to tell that the concussion represents clinical depression. I want to know that I am physically ill and it is not my fault. My therapist told me that enough times, but for some reason I don’t believe it. It feels like I personally failed. I gave into negative behavior for coping mechanisms; I gave into lying around feeling sorry for myself. I basically quit fighting, stopped trying to take care of myself. I’m trying not to lose sight of logic. I know the medicine will help me get better, and that I will use all of the techniques to fight this disease that I have learned and used once before. I hate that chemicals can totally take over my mind. It’s scary when I think about it.