So we've all seen "Inception", right? It comes down to the idea that sometimes we can't find the line between our subconscious and reality. And maybe our subconscious is our reality, or maybe our reality is just our subconscious, and maybe I'm starting to get a massive migraine trying to figure this out.
I guess what I'm trying to say in a philosophical way is that I woke up to an awful dream this morning. It was one of those dreams where you try and try to tell yourself, "This isn't real, don't stress, this isn't happening to you," but every single detail, down to the way your childhood bathroom was painted, is spot on. You look around and you can navigate yourself through your parents' house knowingly, and it is all painstakingly real.
I don't understand why our brains do this to us. It's almost mean in a way. The subconscious is dangerous, and it knows it. It uses every detail we've ever acquired in our lives and sets up scenarios that seem as if they are more like memories that actually occurred. And in my case, my mother-effing subconscious went down deep into the secret parts of my brain that require passwords and official identification to enter and found my confidential folder of deepest fears and made them into a nice little dream; like a Saturday morning special gone wrong.
You'd think in times of psychological suffering, through emotional pain, that your own brain would want to comfort you. You'd hope that it would do it's job to keep your mind strong so that you could continue to survive. Well my guess is that my subconscious is defective and I would end up going bat shit crazy if I ever had to survive with what it's giving me.
I'm trying to figure out if my dream was a warning for me or if it was a real look into the future, or if it was just something to get my day started off wrong. Maybe this was meant to be a sub-par day and my mind knew that and thought to itself, "Damn, it's December 3rd. Shelby isn't allowed to have a nice start to her day. Let's rile her up in her sleep so that she wakes up to her heart having a metabolic seizure and a feeling of discomfort that rivals even her most uncomfortable moments."
It's funny though, because since I've started writing this, I'm less and less bothered by the dream itself. As time moves on I'm realizing the details weren't so spot on after all. And that I don't really care anymore. Sometimes I feel like because what used to be my biggest fear came true, that I don't really have anything else to be afraid of anymore. Especially not some stupid dream from a defective subconscious that couldn't even get the shape of his head right...