Dreams, Rejection, and the Weight I Carry
🖤 Dreams, Rejection, and the Weight I Carry
Some nights, sleep doesn't bring peace.
Some nights, it brings pain dressed in symbols I can't ignore.
A few days ago, I had a dream I’ll never forget: I murdered my own mother.
The next morning, I saw a dead woman’s face in my dream—someone I didn’t recognize. Her lifeless eyes stared through me, as if calling out something I couldn’t name.
I woke up with my heart pounding. Not from guilt, but from confusion, sadness, and a strange kind of fear.
But then reality struck harder than the dream ever could.
💔 Rejected by Blood
Just days before these dreams, my parents accused me of something dark—of doing black magic on them.
They shut me out of our home.
They stopped talking to me.
They shut the door on not just a son, but a human being trying to heal.
That accusation broke something in me.
Not because it was true—but because it wasn’t, and yet it was believed.
I’ve already been through a lifetime of battles.
I’m a recovering addict. My journey from the depths of addiction back to life hasn’t been easy. It’s been a road paved with pain, guilt, growth, and transformation.
I’ve tried to rebuild not just my life, but also my soul.
Today, I am married to a woman who stood by me. I’m trying to be a good father to a bright 9-year-old boy who needs love, structure, and focus.
But even now, even after all this effort… I’m jobless. I’m depressed. I feel like I’m failing.
When my own family rejects me, it's more than just being shut out of a house—it's being shut out of my own identity.
🌒 What the Dreams Were Really Telling Me
I don’t think those dreams were literal.
I think they were messages.
In my dream, I killed my mother—not because I wanted to, but because maybe my soul is trying to cut ties with old wounds, old pain, old expectations that no longer help me grow.
The dead woman’s face?
Maybe she’s the version of me I used to be—the one who was drowning silently, unseen and unloved.
Or maybe she’s the version of me I fear I’m becoming again: forgotten, lost, voiceless.
🛤 Still Walking, Still Fighting
Even after the dreams.
Even after being accused and cut off.
Even without a job or stable ground under my feet—
I’m still here.
Writing this.
Trying to breathe through it all.
Trying to find meaning.
Trying to keep the promises I made to myself when I chose recovery.
I’m still trying to be a good man.
🕯 To Anyone Who Feels Lost
If you’ve ever been misunderstood, accused, abandoned by the ones who should have loved you unconditionally…
I see you.
I am you.
You are not alone in this shadowed place.
And even if you’ve lost your way, your job, your confidence, or your identity—there is still a light somewhere in you. It might flicker. But it’s not out.
Sometimes dreams break us so we can rebuild.
I don’t know how things will turn out. I don’t have all the answers.
But I know I’m still here. Still breathing. Still reaching for something better.
And that, for today, is enough.
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