bending_sickle | And yet I did try. I tried very hard.

Saturday night I had the most disturbing dream.

Now, I usually have pretty random dreams that have nothing to do with real life – or even me. I less often have dreams wherein I experience strong emotions, most notably frustration or fear. (In fact, I only consider a dream a nightmare if it makes me wake up in a panic. A dream where I’m, say, being eaten alive by a vindictive clown in a shark suit?** If I don’t feel fear, it’s not a nightmare.)

This night’s dream creeped me out. First off, it was me in it, Real Life me at that. Second, it was really mundane. It had very little of the whole “dreamlike randomness” and a heck of a lot of “waking life sequential logic***”. The kind of realism that makes you wake up and wonder if it was real.

It started off with my mother and me in a car. I could see snow and rain falling on the backseat window. It was alternatively a sunny summer day and a dark winter night. I was delighted to be back in my home city. (Not surprisingly, this is considered to be Montreal.)

I voluntarily signed up for a nuthouse, or "live-in counselling institution". We did all sorts of chores, not least of which was a memorable day spent shovelling mud and digging holes in a path somewhere in the woods. I was covered in mud up to my boots, but feeling pretty good about it since I was with my team. (Apparently we were assigned into groups to help us socialize.)

For no apparent reason other than he was cute and nice, I up and kissed a guy. This was my first kiss ever, and it was quite chaste. I didn’t quite know why I kissed him, but I was feeling impulsive.

Turns out he was a counsellor. And the librarian.

Things got damn awkward when I tried to take a book out. I had a dim recollection of him, but little else. He kept shying away from me as if I might hurt him, as if he were afraid of me, while at the same time trying to ignore me. The kiss came up and I realized that things were going to get real bad, real soon. I’d obviously broken a very important rule, forcing things onto the counsellor.

I got a phone call from the head person, suggesting that I leave the institution. Because of what I’d done, I was no longer welcome and considered a danger. I stand up for myself reminding them that I am, as they might have noticed, not entirely of sane mind, and that perhaps the fact that I’d been socially isolated for two years with no friends at all may have influenced my actions.

I suppose you can get a pretty good idea of what’s preying on my mind from this dream. For one, I’m more than a bit concerned about my mental health. Not enough of do anything about it, but enough to sometimes just stop and stare at myself, if you will, and say, "Girl, this is as far as it can go. Really."

I’ve already discussed this at length with Kit-kat and, if I were writing this with internet-access, I’d go check out the emails and see what they led to. I’m going to go ahead and LJ-Cut the rest of this sorry mess of "woe is me". If you do read, please take with a grain of salt. Obviously my memory takes some sort of perverse pride in recalling the bad times better than the good.

But really, all I can say is that I worry. Sometimes I’ve had good cause to worry. Like the slight moments of ~~agora~~ going-out-of-the-house-aphobia. Or the really random “panic like a rat” moments. The “I can’t be bothered to move, much less retain a semblance of cleanliness” lethary isn’t cool. And you know the “break down and cry uncontrollably” moments? Not so fun. Litanies of “I’m fine, I’m okay” are a pack of lies, but still repeated ad nauseaum.

Knowing that my brother’s been diagnosed with clinical depression, and my first cousin with anxiety attacks does not help my well-informed Bio/Psych BSc. mind. (Regarding my mother, I have my concerns. Not a happy lady, let me tell you.)

March 2005 was a bitch to me, as was February 2006. There’s been other really tough spots since then, but those were eeevil. Thinking back on it, it’s a bloody miracle I managed to study at all for that semester’s finals.

It was during that time that I took a depression test. (One we’d been studying in Abnormal Psych, so it was pretty legit.) Apparently I was borderline-depressed.

And, if you believe Blogthings, I still am. Yay me.

Your Depression Level: 60%

You seem to have mild depression.
A lot of people fall into your range, and it's quite possible you don't need treatment.
If you've been feeling this way for a while, you may want to seek help.

Are You Depressed?

(By the by, the lovely process of post-BSc. academics and beurocracy of late 2006 and early 2007 resulting in stress-induced eczema. Not pretty. It made me go all, “Mah skin, mah bootiful skin! Oh gawd, why?”)

You Are 51% Misanthropic

You're somewhat misanthropic, but you're not willing to write off the human race (yet!).
There's a few people you like, and even them you like at a distance.

How Misanthropic Are You?

You Are 72% Grown Up, 28% Kid

Congratulations, you are definitely quite emotionally mature.
Although you have your moments of moodiness, you're usually stable and level headed.

How Emotionally Mature Are You?

* A. Huxley, The Island (which I never finished)
** No, I’ve never had this dream. Would be neat if I had, though.
*** Except for that bit where my mother tried to roast ribs in a bus. You can’t really blame her, as the bus’ heating was a bunch of electrical wires strung across the windows. (Yeah…)