In which I talk about sleep, dreams, and my deceitful mind.
Sleeping in the midst of chaos and noise can often be structured as a self-preservation mechanism that may or may not aid the boggled mind. It is then dreams are procured, whether I have dreamt of absolutely something that has nothing to do with my current state, a recurring dream to which I have no answers to, or an augury of what lies ahead. An escape to lay rest of my worries and definite emotional state, my mind shows of what may be true or just hearsays.
My dream’s dependence is of emotional and of thoughts before I truly descend out of my body. I articulate this in a way that when I sleep, I am otherworldly, no holds-barred, my thinking forgotten, because sleeping so deeply cuts me out to the current world. Hence, the dreams to which I cannot explain when I wake up in deep breaths, teary eyes, and pools of saliva. Because I cannot completely remember, only bits and pieces vaguely. And I’m not sure whether my mind made it all up or this is just my mind sucking at remembering things.
I have this recurring dream of a never-ending fall to nowhere and blackness resulting in my waking up breathless with a heavy heart. I am extremely boggled (I love saying the word) because this never occurred after watching much horror movies, when I understand that after being scared, naturally the mind retains the images of what was last seen that is prominent and creates a nightmare out of it. My dreams after watching horror movies are stupid. Instead of seeing good ol’ Sadako and Jack Nicholson with that axe I am shown Shelley Duvall’s comical face.
A long time ago, a family friend gave me a book called Books That Changed The World by Robert B. Downs. In it is a collection of works from twenty eight men and women whose writings reformed our thoughts about the universe and ourselves. And because psychology fascinates me, I headed first to read about Sigmund Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams. A familiar matter, since last summer we had compulsory classes to attend and one was psychology. (Is it safe to say I want to be a neurologist because he was one or)
According to Freud, “We are justified in asserting that a dream is the disguised fulfillment of a repressed wish.” I understand this in a way I deem factual because of a few circumstances that transpired in dream world. Dreams are not always clear, expressed in symbols and the root of it is something personal. In regular day dream world, in a tedious uneventful lecture that is always found in textbook, I find myself staring blankly into my teacher’s forehead and imagining scenarios of just about anything. Also, the constant imagining of being in music videos, spy movies, superhero suits and etc.
My mind is the greatest thing, in my own egoistic opinion, of course. You know how it is without it. It is the same with Heart, but I deem Brain a wee bit higher in a sense that a neurologist studies the nervous system and a cardiologist, the heart, because I want to be a neurologist. You then wonder why I’m studying physical therapy. In my state, you take up pre-medicine courses for 4-5 years before proceeding to 4 years of medicine, if you like and/or able. So if I can’t proceed to studying 10 more years to become a neurologist and with any luck, be a neurosurgeon, I’d be a physiotherapist instead. Because you know, that’s helluva dedication and money spent.
What I consider the best asset of my being is probably my worst enemy. That being said, my mind plays tricks on me. I don’t know why it’s bullying me. Maybe it’s filing a complaint because of the horde of plot bunnies prancing in it, or the loads of medical terms to be memorized. The scary thing is I get flashes of things that “happened” which may or may not have happened actually or the bits of conversations I hear turn into flashbacks that my mind thinks has happened but I have no memory of the experience, whatsoever.
Like in a conversation with friends, they occasionally struggle to get my attention whilst rambling because I don’t look at them, meaning they think I don’t listen, but truthfully I am, really. I just listen so intensively that my eyes wander about and my mind imagines the whole scenery of what they are saying. I deduce this as a cause of the many why’s on the mind playing tricks thing.
Example: A long time ago, a friend complained about having to wash the dishes when she was getting rather hooked on a good book, say, The Hunger Games. I don’t particularly remember any trivial conversation from months past but I only recall it when someone mentions it. But time after, no one absolutely brought it up so I don’t give mind to washing dishes and The Hunger Games at separate times. But five months ago, I was really compelled while reading L.J. Smith’s The Forbidden Game and in the crack of dawn, I wandered out of the story and thought about dishes. Which is illogical because there are no dishes to wash, really. Maybe it’s the similarity of the title because it had “Game” in it, or maybe just my bizarre mind visualizing nonsense because it was way past my bed time.
And to the evident point of the tricky mind making me see or hear things which should be daunting but to me is very stimulating. Also the question of whether it is the mind that inhabits the brain, that the mind creates the preferences of one person, and so on.
One question apparently leads to another and to get to that, first, I should sleep.
And did I mention I love the word “boggled”?