Stealing Dreams

I'm hoping it's the sickness, or the medicine, or even, dare I say, the cynicism that's been instilled in me this year after the loss or visible destruction of a large number of things that once stood as pillars of hope and promise in my life. At any rate, the self-destructiveness of my dreams is starting to irk me.

My dreams, let me first explain, have always been a place of escape for me. The images are vibrant, colorful and other-worldly. The scenarios are like heavenly movies: the kinds of things that happen could only happen in imagination, but since dreams are flights of fancy, I can accept the fantasy. So, the dreams may never come true, but some have in part, and I believe eternity has other pieces of those dreams in store for me.

However, lately my dreams have been horrifying and despairing for me because they begin beautiful and turn on me. They become dark representations of destruction and loss and sadness for me, and I awake feeling unhappy and listless. Even my dreams don't want me to find happiness anymore...

If I'm in love with you and can never have you, I can handle that, but only if I can dream of you. If I am to fail in my attempts and lose my life and see my hopes of something else dashed to pieces against a brick wall, fine, but I need my dreams of beauty and happiness to get me through. I need my dreams for survival as they are tokens of eternal promises. How can I live if my dreams are stolen from me along with everything else?