Writing Prompt: Only In My Dreams

 Prompt: Write about a dream(s).

Only In My Dreams

Out of the blue I had a drinking dream this week and it was really unsettling. In the dream, I was at some tony bar/restaurant with some friends, and I started drinking red wine. I felt myself getting drunk in the dream, and I was filled with remorse for blowing my long-term sobriety. But I kept on drinking, proof of course that I am indeed an alcoholic.

Upon waking, I was obviously filled with relief that I was indeed sober, no real red wine had passed my lips and my sober date was intact. I wondered why I had happened to have a drinking dream, and realized before falling asleep I had been reading a book where some characters were raiding a wine cellar in their holiday home. So everything started to make sense, though I was still somewhat unsettled.

Normally, I don’t remember any of my dreams, that’s what happens when you take the medication I’m on for my bipolar disorder. But occasionally, I’ll awake with crystal clear memory of something that tormented me when I was asleep. Like the really bad dream I had a few years back where I was in a car that had gone off the road and started filling up with water. I somehow got out and was frantically trying to keep my head above water whilst simultaneously locate my purse which had my ID and credit cards.

 I still remember that nightmare to this day. I can read all kinds of things into it, like fear of dying and the search for an identity. I imagine I have a pretty active dream world, and I wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that my meds block my memory of most of it. I know my mother is deeply tormented by anxiety fueled dreams every night, and she’s got an anxiety disorder just like me. Thankfully I don’t contend with that misery, as I said, I only remember a handful of dreams, albeit bad ones.

Sometimes I long for the days of my youth, when I’d often have flying dreams and other pleasant experiences. It’s been a long, long time since I experienced the exhilarating feeling of flying, perfecting my takeoffs and landings with ease. Perhaps when you age into your 50s you just naturally worry more, and that carries over into your dream world where pleasant experiences don’t take place. At least that’s been the case with me. Will I ever dream of flying again? I certainly hope so.

So I guess I’m tempted to say all my dreams I can remember today are filled with angst, driven by anxiety that has plagued me most markedly since I got sober almost seven years ago. I’m working on it though, with medication and talk therapy and activities to distract my mind from fear and worry. But thankfully, I don’t remember most of my dreams, which I guess is a blessing. Though when it comes to the drinking dreams, I do want to at least always remember how relieving it is to wake up knowing your sobriety is intact. That drinking was only in my dreams. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?