The One Where I Had A Very Specific Dream And It Kind Of Scared Me

I had a dream last night I killed myself.

It was painfully detailed.

I wrote out a long and very specific letter, categorized into why I was doing it, what I used to kill myself, a section tying up all my affairs, e.g. my car payment is through this company, my car insurance is through this company, the password to my laptop, my banking account numbers, what to do with all of my things (my personal items are split between Lincoln and Hebron; basics are here in Lincoln, all my books, important photos, etc at Dad’s house), and then I wrote a quick apology to each person I felt needed one. To my mom and dad, I’m sorry to make you bury a child. To my brother, I’m sorry you don’t have a sister anymore. To my friends, I’m sorry for taking a friend away from you, but please feel free to go through my stuff to pick out something to remind you of me.

After I wrote the letter, I walked down the hallway to a closet, found pills, walked to the kitchen to grab booze, and then walked back to the guest room and laid down on the bed and took the pills and drank the booze.

I woke up from the dream in the same laying position I had been in my dream. That was the most unnerving thing about it all, I think. I opened my eyes and actually thought, “well shit, that didn’t work after all.” But then as I became more coherent, I realized it was just a dream. A really, really specific dream. Eerie. And I remember feeling so lucid during it, as well. I wasn’t crying or distraught by what I was doing, I went through everything very methodically, precisely, and detail-oriented.

My brain is an odd beast, my subconscious a jerk. I had two separate conversations about suicide yesterday, so my sleeping self decided, “hey, that’s a cool thing to dream about. Here you go.” Thanks, brain. This is why no one likes you.

I want to reiterate that I have no plans of causing this to happen. I’m sad and upset about things in my life at the moment, but I’m not that sad and upset. I’m not in the same dark place I found myself over three years ago. I’m not dealing with the end of a nearly 10 year relationship and marriage. I’m not dealing with alcohol abuse as a truly terrible way to “help” with these things. I haven’t found out my husband had cheated on me, nor am I cheating on my husband. Three Years Ago Erin is vastly different from the Erin I am today.

I do, however, still get overly moody and emotional and don’t deal with those emotions properly. Normal people talk to other people when they feel sad, lonely, worthless, etc. I internalize. I don’t want to bother anyone with my petty things. You all have your own issues to deal with and don’t need me and mine to add to yours. I’ll be fine. Force that smile and stuff your feelings down like you always do, Erin. LOL.

I obviously need work. It’s hard, though. It’s hard admitting you have a major issue like that, that your brain refuses to operate properly or that you feel like you can’t talk to anyone. I know I have people to talk to. I know I do. I get yelled at for not talking to them, but there’s something inside me that doesn’t want me to. I want to. I want to spend hours chatting away, and there are few people I can do that with. Alcohol has to be involved, sadly. I hate that. I hate that I feel I need to lower my inhibitions to open up and I’m sure others hate that, too. I don’t know; we never talk about it. (ba dum ching.)

This is why I write. I may over-share, I may divulge too much personal information in too public of a venue, but this is how I choose to do it for now. Some day I hope to communicate openly and freely, but until then…

As always, thanks for reading.


P.S.  I’m sorry if this scared anyone. I was just retelling a dream. I’m fine to the extent I won’t do something stupid, I promise.

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