The Dream: Describe Your Trauma
Driving down a foggy road to missing school .. the many sides of depression
Written: February. 26, 2026 @0918
When the subconscious speaks you either listen or ignore it. I decided to not only listen, but follow through to the end.
The Dream
[The semi-lucid dream (6am) started off with me and a group of women from young adult, to my current age, and maybe 10-15 years older than me, sitting in a circle in a library. There was a chill and comfortable environment. Nothing formal. Some people were sitting on chairs while others were sitting on the floor leaned up against their friend. The group was comforting. There was a lady leading the discussion and she had a mic. She asked the questions, “Have you experienced trauma?” “Are you able to describe your trauma?” Someone answered before me and then, boldly but confidently, I raised my hand to answer. In the dream, I saw myself as a professional, someone who was valued, listened too, respected, and who shared but not on a level as detailed with this group before. I think I might be around the group a lot but this setting was more intimate. ]
Table of Contents
Imagine yourself driving on a foggy road – a Louisiana foggy road. You can only see about 5 feet beyond the hood of the car. I can see more behind me than I can in front. When you look to the side only the tree lines are visible. You’re the only car on the road, or though, it feels as such. I’m aware of some of the trees rustling and the way the damp air feels, but it’s subtle, when in reality it’s loud and smothering.
There’s a dampness in the air, on the grass, on you, on the car. The dew touches everything. And yet, I am still in the car driving through the fog. At lower capacity, not in the best condition, but to the outside they still see the car is moving, so things must be okay. I am doing everything as I should; I’m within the bounds of “normal”.
This is one representation of my functioning depression.
I was sexually abused as a child. Everyone has a role they play in their group, from a family setting, school setting, friendship setting etc. We all see the role that appears to be safe, helps us feel seen to an individual degree, and is of most useful to oneself and to the group. I assimilated into the role that was there but not too out in the center. I’m vocal but mainly quiet. You feel my presence, but you feel the energy of reservedness first. I am a helping hand and not the main character. And the main character trait was TO NOT BE A DISTURBANCE. Now, I have always been quiet but the abuse makes me quiet in different ways – in voice, in how I move or don’t move my body, and in how I show up and express my presence. I took on the role of there, but you’ll notice me fully when I feel safe. Now, whether this role was assigned to me or I embraced what felt safe was a total of 50-50. A role was placed on me that I didn’t know how to shake without feeling exposed. Truthfully, without reliving the trauma again, because the body keeps the score.
Keeping my depression at a baseline was routine. My baseline can be compared to a simmering pot. The depression was always at a simmer, not a boil. She gets stirred once in a while, then you temper the heat. A boil might appear but, again, stir and lower the heat. But junior year in college the simmering pot started to be harder to maintain. More bubbles would appear and I had to stir more often. Senior year of college, around finals, the simmer erupted into a boil I could not contain. My depression showed up as the most common way we think of depression.
The Bombshell
Laying in bed, eating not enough, quiet and still house, mindless thoughts, and isolation was my depression. This go round was different from the others. I have experienced these symptoms before, and it would last a weekend or a few days, but it was tempered with responsibilities of school, practice, and the cover of not wanting to be seen as a disturbance. But this time, I couldn’t stop the noise inside my head from building. I felt the pressure from within start to consume me. And the more I tried to quiet and mitigate my feelings the harder it became to exit as I routinely was. Then boom, for 2 ½ weeks I did not leave my apartment. I did not go to any class but one and left early. My phone – ignored it, but one phone call that disappointed me or showed how my support system was not capable of this moment. Ate minimally. I showered with no music and the lights off. There was no tv, not even my comfort shows worked. Only silence, complete external silence, in my 2 bedroom apartment.
What made this round (or bout) of depression unique was the absence of me being suicidal. I have been extremely suicidal 4 times in my life. Three out of the four were all before the age of 16. I say extremely because on a scale of 1 – 5, 4 being I conducted a plan, made arrangements and tried to go through with it fully. 5 is – I went through with it. This round was unique because I was not suicidal and I remember being perplexed and confused. I knew I didn’t want to die, but I also did not want to exist. This was a newfound feeling, and I did not know what to do or how to proceed. I remember laying in bed feeling paralyzed with thoughts of my abuse, being seen, the guilt and shame, the burden of having to exist with a secret that shouldn’t be mine to carry.
You see the depression was always there, because the cost of silence was still there – silent scream caged in a soundproof, one way box. I’m here. I’m hurting. I have trauma. But how does one express this when you were taught and assimilated into a role to not be a disturbance?
The End
Now at the age of 28, I am much more forward than I am backwards in my journey and that is all I can keep striving for.
So this was my semi-lucid dream. The conversation between myself expanded.
Written With Truth,
Lasting Questions
Can you describe your trauma?
Are you at the stage to visualize, speak or write it out?