A Psychiatric Oddity

"It's not just a dream, doctor, it's a constant replay of the same dream. Oh sure, the people and situation may be a little different, but in the end it's the same theme, and it's where I'll go when I die", Angela said with all the confidence she could muster.

It sounded crazy, she knew that, knew it so well that she had made an appointment with a renowned psychiatrist to help her sort it all out. It had taken her at least five visits before she was able to open up and start telling the doctor her bizarre concerns about the repeating dreams she had almost every night. She felt tight all over and realized she had clenched her fist so hard when she blurted out her feelings that her nails dug into her palm and blood was trickling down her hand. She grabbed a Kleenex to wipe it, hoping the doctor hadn't noticed, and tried to gather her composure.

Doctor Harrison J. Cummings was a comforting man, a little stocky and not too tall, but his dark features and open style put his clients at ease. He had those eyes that invited people to open up, trust him, and confide the worst or best in their lives. He slid his glasses halfway down his nose, smiled at Angela, and then cleared his throat.

"Tell me about the common thread between these dreams, Angie, may I call you Angie?" He smiled, and she nodded without thinking. "Okay, then, let's start with the first common thread you noticed in these dreams, and then build on the other aspects of the dreams as they come to you."

Angela felt her heart begin to race and she wasn't sure if she could get the words out now that she heard how they sounded when she blurted them out earlier. What if she was certifiable? Maybe all the weed she smoked was causing delusions and he would want to put her in a rehab center. All these thoughts were racing through her mind and not a single word came out. Doctor Cummings crossed his legs and began staring at his fingernails, a method he'd found effective for putting people at ease, which was focusing on something familiar that they both had in common.

"Do you ever get hangnails Angie? I get them and find myself chewing on them when I'm nervous until I rip the cuticle right off the nail and make it bleed. Oh, I'm sorry, you were going to tell me something about your dreams, so don't let me interrupt you again."

Angie had a slight smile on her lips and she found she was relaxing. The doctor was just a person like her, and she wanted to tell somebody. "Okay, I will try my best but please bare with me if I get confused or have to start over." The doctor nodded with a smile. "It began with a dream about being in a hotel and across the road were a bunch of places that sold scratch tickets and had slot machines too. I am a gambling addict, so that really appealed to me, and I frequented these places often although I had no money to spend and had to wait until someone gave me some. That's not the main theme though, the main theme I would have to say would be that there is a man in my life and I can never figure out who he is. We are in love, but we can't be together for some reason, sometimes it's because of his rich family not accepting me, and sometimes it's because he has a wife or girlfriend, but it's always the same situation."

Doctor Cummings was listening, she knew that, because he wasn't on his computer or taking notes, he was watching her with the utmost interest.

"Should I go on, doctor?"

"Yes, please do, this is fascinating. I have taken several dream classes because dreams are very important to us even though we don't always remember them."

"Okay, well, this man is a different man in every dream, but he's the same man, he just looks different in each dream and that is frustrating because I don't know how to figure out who he really is. We always start out being together, but then something happens and either he stops coming around, or he is with someone else he says he has to be with, or some other excuse, but he's with another woman and I'm alone. I keep struggling to be with him, but it's useless. And then, there is the part about the money. I always dream that somewhere I have money coming but I have to go and get it. I always get there too late, or the bank is closed, or I didn't put in the right paperwork, but I never seem to be able to get the money."

"Angie, can you relate any of what you have told me to your conscious life? Is there a man in your life you are in love with but can't be with?"

The harsh afternoon sun was coming through the window and making her feel warmer than usual. Sweat began to form on her forehead, and she didn't know if it was because of the subject matter or because she was hot from the sun. Either way it wasn't helping her concentrate on what she needed to say. "I have a few men in my life I regret leaving, one of them being my ex husband. We were together for a good many years but I knew he didn't love me, not the way he should have, and he kept staying out all night. Then there was another man I've known for almost 35 years and he and I have been in and out of relationships with each other many times in that period. Other than that, I can only think of one other that I left and could have made a decent life with, but he isn't the man, I know that."

"Okay, so there is the money and then this man. What else?"

Angela fidgeted with her hair while she tried to remember everything. "There is my mother who is always somewhere around because she lives in one of those cubicles, and I always want to go see her but I never do, and then she isn't there anymore. And it's always the same settings. If I'm in a mall it's a mall I've been to many times. In one dream I even remember going into outer space on these machines that looked like motorcycles."

"We have a lot to work on Angie, so today I want you to go home and journal about what certain things in the dream mean to you, like what does money represent to you? What does this man mean to you and why. Then we can meet next week and we'll start taking the dream apart until we figure it out."

Angela hesitantly got up and started for the door. She knew he thought she was crazy, disturbed, and didn't believe her when she said it was a separate reality and not a dream and that she would go there when she died. She could hear the doctor calling after her, asking her to please make another appointment with him, but she just wanted to get home and try to work it out on her own.

The rain was coming down steadily and it felt like the angels were crying as Angela started across the street to her apartment. Out of nowhere a car came flying down the street, and before she could move he ran smack into her, sending her flying across the top of the car and back onto the street.

Dr. Cummings was shocked when he got the news about Angela the next day and couldn't focus on any of his patients because she occupied his mind. He had never lost a patient before, this was a first, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that she had gotten her demons off her mind before the car accident. That night when he got home he sat in front of the fire and pondered what Angela had told him about her dreams. What if she was right? He thought a lot about her telling him she dreamed of John Belushi, and he was lying on the sidewalk in New York. As she walked past him, he raised his head and told her that this life isn't reality, but when we go to sleep at night, that's the reality.

When he went to bed that night, he dreamed of a place where there were a lot of slot machines and scratch tickets for sale. He saw the cubicles she had described, and as he was looking over at them he saw Angie with her arms around a man, and they were standing out on a lawn. She looked over at Dr. Cummings and waved, and he knew one thing in his heart. She was right, that is where she went when she died, and the dream really was reality.

This story is dedicated to a very good friend of mine who is no longer with me