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Reflections of a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl

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If Freud is right and our dreams do in fact reveal our naked subconscious mind, then I am afraid there is something terribly broken in me. At night, any filter or form of restraint I have on my thoughts wears away, and all that remains is overwhelming sadness. It is like a broken gumball machine shooting out all its contents, and I make a futile attempt to catch the gumballs in my hands but am only hit with the clinking sound of pinks and blues falling together.
Ever since I was prescribed antidepressants, my dreams have become intensely vivid and realistic, to an increasingly often disturbing degree. It started out with strange, illogical, but rather harmless scenarios. Soon, they evolved to scenes that showed me releasing anger I did not know I possessed towards family members and friends around me. Most of which involved me screaming at my parents and brother, and I do not wish to psychoanalyze the meanings behind those dreams. Lately my dreams have explicitly revealed my deepest anxieties, commonly laced with themes of hurt, neglect, and rejection from those closest to me.
On my third night in the psychiatric hospital, I dreamt I was back in school. I dreamt of walking down the halls and passing my friends, who only stopped me to ask, “Why are you even here? Why did you come back?” or “Wait, you were gone? I didn’t notice.” I know that I created these images, albeit unconsciously, but I cannot forget the cold stares in their eyes no matter how much I want to. That morning I woke up was the first time I cried during my stay in the hospital.
More recently I dreamt of my mother yelling at me. All I remember is her repeatedly saying “You’re so stupid!” and the occasional “You’re psycho!” in Mandarin, and myself crying, looking to my dad and brother for support, only to see them nodding silently. Now my mother has called me stupid before, and if she were to again now, I would not flinch. But somehow, this dream stuck with me the entire day, and I still feel hurt somehow. All I could think of was her voice saying “You’re stupid you’re stupid you’re stupid you’re stupid”, a dark raincloud floating above my head.
These dreams bother me not because I am unable to distinguish my dreams from reality but rather because there is an undeniable tie between the two.
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