Waking dreams

While I sit in bed trying to fall back to sleep, I find my brain still functioning in dream mode. I’m awake but still tapped into the subconscious images. Dried fruit and citrus peels swarmed with flies. A hose left running and splashing on a concrete driveway. Songs like John Lennon “whatever gets you through the night” playing in the background. Mixed flashes of past memories. Past girlfriend and you spending the day together. Laying under a tree while autumn leaves are falling. All of this carrying on like a acid trip being narrated in a gonzo style of Hunter S. Thompson.

I soon realized that I don’t know if it’s me in these waking dreams. I can’t tell not only because I don’t see my face, but I never know what my face looks like. I’m not blind. I’ve looked in the mirror. I just can’t ever seem to recognize myself. While my appearance changed over the years, my eyes are the only thing I was ever able to distinguish. They are the eyes of my father for sure. But while so many recognize my face, I never did. It has no meaning or bearing on how I see myself. I have a complete dysphoria of my physical being. I am a man because I was told I was as a child learning how to speak and identify, but that bore no wait on how I saw myself. I can look in a mirror and I don’t see me or how I feel I should look.

Looking at pictures of myself in my mother’s photo album, I didn’t feel like it was me. Once I took a bunch of them out of the album and wrote the name Michael on the back with the year 1973. I don’t know why, but I felt that the person in the photo was somehow a boy named Michael. As for the date, again it was just something I felt. Now years later I feel like I was kind of sharing my body with another who was lost. I asked my parents if maybe there was a miscarriage or something before I was conceived, but to them I was again being weird and dramatic. Never knowing if it’s something that is real or am I still just struggling with my mental health and dysphoria. While some hear this they think it’s something magical and divine, while the others see it as mental illness. No matter what others see it as to me I am struggling with who I am and understanding anything.

My dreams so often are of animals and either birds, bears, wolves, or a lot of the time something more of a hybrid like werewolves. I’ve never feared them. Instead I understood and felt more connected to those identities. The only thing that brought fear would be what I couldn’t see in the dark. The ominous unknown. Like a dark cave. I’ve never get ne in that cave but I know there’s a giant bear that guards it. I don’t know if it’s their home, or is it their charge to guard it? Is it a treasure or is it something dark and imprisoned there? maybe I will find out but I don’t think it will be before this time is over.


Published by Snowy Owl

There was a lot more written here before. Then I saw it was irrelevant. I am just another person with an autoimmune disease and spectrum ”disorder” who is highly sensitive to their environment. I thought I would write a few things down, so here you go. Swim at your own risk!

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