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The St. John's Wort is really kicking in. Not in terms of my mood and energy levels, which are about where they were late last week (and I think this is about as good as I can expect it to get on a purely chemical level), but in terms of the really whacked-out dreams I've been having.
It's cool, actually. I don't usually remember my dreams. When I'm not on meds and not suffering from insomnia, I sleep pretty deeply, and my dreams fade quickly after I've awoken. On SSRIs, though, I have beautiful, brilliant technicolour dreams. I think that all my dreams are like that, but I usually don't remember them.
One thing I've always loved about my dreams are the landscapes. I dream in sweeping, epic vistas: giant mountain ranges, sweeping deserts, buildings that stretch up into the sky beyond where the eye can see them. Weird, non-euclidian shapes, staircases that go on forever, great rushing rivers that sweep past the horizon. Everything is brighter in my dreams, the contrasts sharper, everything outlined in black pen.
I still don't remember exactly what I dreamed about. If I think about it hard enough, I might be able to remember some of them. Last night involved a long, involved chase on the banks of a huge river like the Amazon, trying to make my way from one tiny island to the next amidst the sluggish brown water. There were huge alligators, too (and it's weird that I seem to dream recurringly about alligators), that lurked in the shallows, half-hidden in the rushes, waiting for unsuspecting prey. It was a pretty anxious dream, which isn't typical, but I'll take what I can get: it really was breathtakingly beautiful, so much so that I can't do it justice in words.
It's cool, actually. I don't usually remember my dreams. When I'm not on meds and not suffering from insomnia, I sleep pretty deeply, and my dreams fade quickly after I've awoken. On SSRIs, though, I have beautiful, brilliant technicolour dreams. I think that all my dreams are like that, but I usually don't remember them.
One thing I've always loved about my dreams are the landscapes. I dream in sweeping, epic vistas: giant mountain ranges, sweeping deserts, buildings that stretch up into the sky beyond where the eye can see them. Weird, non-euclidian shapes, staircases that go on forever, great rushing rivers that sweep past the horizon. Everything is brighter in my dreams, the contrasts sharper, everything outlined in black pen.
I still don't remember exactly what I dreamed about. If I think about it hard enough, I might be able to remember some of them. Last night involved a long, involved chase on the banks of a huge river like the Amazon, trying to make my way from one tiny island to the next amidst the sluggish brown water. There were huge alligators, too (and it's weird that I seem to dream recurringly about alligators), that lurked in the shallows, half-hidden in the rushes, waiting for unsuspecting prey. It was a pretty anxious dream, which isn't typical, but I'll take what I can get: it really was breathtakingly beautiful, so much so that I can't do it justice in words.
