I had one really long and vivid nightmare about being homeless. I don’t have much in the way of fear but my worst fear is actually homelessness. I fear that much more than even death. I think death would be preferable to homelessness for me. The dream was so vivid it included the sights, smells, sounds, and tastes; all five senses were hit. I do not think I’ve ever been so glad to be awake.
I fear homelessness so much because I have difficulty being resourceful and difficulty with executive functioning. I would not last a day living on the streets or in a men’s shelter. Sensitive men like myself aren’t made for the Darwinian life of being on the street. I know this is just a dream and I keep telling myself that this is just a dream. It’s just a night time reflection of my fears. I am going to make it. I have to tell myself this. I am going to make it.
It was so real that I had no desire to go back to sleep for fear of the dream picking up right where it left off. I wish more studies were done about nightmares. I know that one of the medications I take that is often prescribed for people like myself with PTSD, Clonidine, usually does wonders for keeping the nightmares at bay but last night it surely did nothing at all. I am still blown away by how real this dream was; how really awful.
Now it is time to move on and move forward. I am up for the day and it is 7:00am as I write this. I have a roof over my head and the reality is that I am in no immediate danger of homelessness. And if I was, I still have a credit card that I could prepay at a cheap motel and stay afloat for at least 90 days. I don’t have to worry, I have a backup plan, and I know how to execute it. I just have to keep telling myself that the dream was just a dream, it’s not real.