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| My other blog wasn't working so I deleted it and decided to start over. |
| I had this dream in 1973, before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. But looking back, I'm thinking my disorder might have had something to do with how weird it was. I'm with a small group of people in a wooded area with lots of trees and a river that flows into a swampy pond. We're walking on a dirt path that follows the river. Nobody is talking which I find a little strange. As we near the pond, a small gnome like creature jumps out a bushy area and tells us that we are trespassing and are now going to be cursed. He took out a old looking, wooden stick and pointed it at us, uttering words that I couldn't understand. All of a sudden our bodies were turned into blobs of paint that looked like the dried paint on a painters palate. All lumpy and mixed with red, blue, yellow, purple and green colors. I was horrified. To me that was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Suddenly the scene changed again and myself and the other blobs of paint were on horses trying to find the creature, beg him to forgive us and give us our bodies back (how we were able to ride horses, is beyond me). We couldn't find him anywhere. We road to the end of the woods and into a large field. Across the field there was another wooded area. I thought I saw the creature peeking out from behind one of the trees. I raced toward him, still on a horse. But the field kept getting bigger and bigger. As I started to panic, I looked down and saw that my hands were gradually coming back. By the time I finally reached the other side of the field, my entire body was back and so was everyone else's. That's when I woke up. I told my mother about my dream and she said that although my dream took things to the extreme, she felt that the blobs of paint represented the haircut I got the day before, which I hated. And that my body returning represented the fact that my hair would eventually grow back. I thought that was a reasonable explanation. It definitely was better than thinking I was simply crazy! In 1981. I told a psychiatrist this dream and he told me he wanted to see me once a week for at least two months. So much for not feeling crazy...LOL |
| For the last few days I've been watching shows that are about what happens in emergency rooms in England, Australia and New York. Most of the time the episodes are really interesting. Other times they're really sad. Sometimes to the point of making me cry. A lot of the patients are elderly, which remind me that I'm not getting any younger. The episodes involving children are hard to watch. Fortunately, most of those episodes have a happy ending. But some don't and those are the ones that make me cry the most. The shows have made me realize that I could never work in an emergency room. I'd end up becoming an emotional wreck. I admire and respect good doctors and nurses a lot more than I used to. |
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