Once upon a dream

It’s 5:31 am on Tuesday, June 8, 2021. I’m not usually awake or coherent at this time of day, but today is exceptional. Today I am recovering from a distressing dream I just had.

Many years ago I heard that writing down a dream immediately after waking is the best way to remember it, although I have never actually tried this tactic. But, as they say, there’s a first time for everything.

As the dream begins, I find myself as a passenger in a car with an assortment of high school classmates. Nick. Heather. The other Heather. Tanya. Shelly. Even though I knew these people a long time ago, it’s the present and we aren’t teenagers anymore.

Freezing rain is falling, so we drive carefully. We want to go out to eat in the area near where we grew up, but are having a hard time choosing a restaurant. This version of the town is very different than what I remember from my youth. It’s growing and prosperous – almost like suburbia if there had been a nearby metropolis for it to attach itself to, not the small, Midwestern farming community it actually was.

We end up at a place outside of town that I’m told is called Ted’s. It’s mostly a burger and steak restaurant like those common in the Midwest, but also one of those establishments that people from miles around patronize because of the amazing, award-winning food. The others had eaten here before, but it was new to me.

The restaurant is packed with people. As is often the case, I find myself at the end of the line in our group as we wind our way through clusters of diners and down long hallways. Have you ever felt like an afterthought, as though you’re just tagging along with people who don’t seem to care if you’re with them or not? That’s a feeling I’m all too familiar with in real life.

Back to the dream. The building itself seems to be a converted house with multiple additions as the restaurant expanded over the years. I’m trying my best to keep up, but I don’t know where I”m going, unlike the rest of the people in my group. There are so many twists and turns that I soon find myself separated from the others and utterly lost.

As I stumble along, I lose my shoes somewhere and spend the next twenty minutes or so looking for my group. When I finally find them seated at a booth in “the dungeon”, which is located in what used to be the basement, I am beyond ticked. No one seems to care that I had gotten lost in this unfamiliar surrounding. No one came looking for me. I grab a bottle of ketchup and squirt it in the other Heather’s face. To my surprise, my parents are there and I squirt them, too.

The others have already ordered their food. It seems I wasn’t worth waiting for. This hurts. I silently sit at the table, stewing internally now, as waves of anger wash over me. Everyone else goes on with their meal as though nothing has happened.

When the waitress asks me what I’d like, I tell her that I’m not hungry. In reality, I am famished, but what I really want isn’t on the menu, even though there are pages and pages of options. When I was younger, a local restaurant made an entree comprised of a slice of bread topped with a hamburger patty, french fries, and melted cheese. If you know what a rare bit burger is, it was similar to that but the cheese was milder and, in my opinion, preferable. This is what I’m longing for now, but they only have the rare bit burger on the menu. Because they don’t have what I want, I stubbornly and defiantly order nothing.

I happen to glance at the front of the menu and notice that this place is called Otto’s, not Ted’s as I had been told. More internal outrage.

Someone seated at the other end of my bench is absentmindedly rocking back and forth, forcing me to as well. This constant to-and-fro motion becomes the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. I fly into a rage, grabbing the ketchup bottle again and squirting people at random. I threaten someone with mustard instead when they complain.

I’ve had enough – I have to get out of this place immediately. The noise, people, and my own outrage overwhelm me so much that I’d rather go outside in the sleet and rain without shoes than stay in this veritable hell one more second. I hear other diners making comments about me, saying how I am behaving like a child and need to control my temper.

And then I wake up. I’m lying in bed, feeling as though I’m hyperventilating, my breathing rapid and shallow. The tears start to flow as I realize what just happened to me. For the first time that I can remember, I had an autistic meltdown, and it happened within my dream. Now I know what it really feels like, and I sob for anyone who has ever experienced a similar episode.

(You can read more about autistic meltdowns in my previous post The price of a gallon of milk. To my knowledge, I have never actually experienced a meltdown in real life; instead I am more prone to shutdowns, which you can also read more about in my post Oh, the noise, noise, noise, NOISE!)

I think mostly of my son, who is now fourteen years old and frequently experienced meltdowns for most of his life up until the past year or so. I had so much sympathy for him prior to this, but now I have empathy as well.

I’ve had panic attacks before, but this was more than that. As my rage and anger grew inside me during the dream, I could see beforehand what was going to happen, but there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. And what’s worse is that no one else seemed to understand or care about what I was going through. Everyone either dismissed me or acted as though I was behaving immaturely.

As is often the case with dreams, some of the specifics seem rational as the dream is occurring but don’t make much sense to the lucid. However, one thing is clear to me – the most emotionally damaging part of the dream was how other people either acted as though I didn’t exist or didn’t understand what I was going through.

I do understand that it’s difficult to always know what others are experiencing and what internal burdens they must bear, especially when they’re complete strangers. However, I propose that one goal we all should have is to do what we can to lessen the burden of others as we collectively tread upon this giant rock hurtling through space.

So I’m asking you directly, right now – how are you going to lessen the burdens of your fellow humans? Does criticizing, berating, judging, or demeaning someone actually help in any way? I confess that, through my lack of understanding and empathy, I have displayed such reactions in the past, although I’m trying my best to do better.

Others may be experiencing things that you don’t understand, but I assure you that your reaction or inaction sends a very clear message tot hem. Please sincerely contemplate this and adjust your deeds, thoughts, and actions accordingly as we do our best to make this world a better place for everyone.

Yes, it’s uncomfortable for all involved, but consider this – who is more uncomfortable? Who has the greater burden to bear? Is it you?