I’ve always dreamed extremely vividly. Colours, sounds, images, scenes; all accurate down to buttons on shirts.
When I get stressed out, I dream of a place I felt safe, valued, and loved. The people are exactly as I remember them. The layout of the store is always accurate to details long forgotten.
The other night I dreamt of someone from my past; someone I haven’t seen in nearly 25 years. But the details, feelings, and emotions that I felt were so real, that I actually expected it to be 1989 when I woke up. Sometimes I think my brain plays out my own Life on Mars fantasies.
I honestly have no idea why *now.* Why at this moment he was on my mind. I don’t remember actively thinking about him, but I was thinking about one of the reasons I spent so much time with him. There was a connection made in my subconscious, then.
I know that my thesis topic can bring me back to this particular time in my life, and I shouldn’t be surprised that I had this dream. I was reading stories that reminded me of my own; stories of pain and sadness and anguish. Stories that make up the sad statistics and reality of the current climate and reality of young people around the world.
I could have been a statistic.
Some days that frightens me.
I was lucky.
Despite the self-destructive path I was on then, I came out the other side. Battered and bruised, but I made it out. And it was down to him. It honestly was. He saved me.
He saved a silly girl who just wanted to have friends and her first boyfriend. He saved a girl who loved science fiction, INXS, the Weather Channel, and detective stories. He saved a girl who didn’t know how to ask for help; a girl who hid for months at lunch because she didn’t know how to stand up for herself or ask why. He saved a girl who was (and still is) flawed, goofy, says ridiculous things, is a complete spaz from time to time, has no filter, and is pretty damned self-absorbed when she wants to be.
He saved a girl who went on to become a teacher so she could do the saving.
I wish I had said thank you enough.