Catching Dreams

About twenty years ago or so my brother Michael and his then-wife Denise brought me a dream catcher for Christmas. I wasn’t really into that sort of thing and I didn’t really know what to do with it until I found out that I was meant to hang it above my bed.

It stayed there for a few years, but over time it began to show signs of wear and tear until I eventually took it down and disposed of it. There didn’t seem much point in keeping something that looked a bit tatty in my room.

But I often wondered if these things actually had any form of merit, especially recently when I saw some in a local bargain shop amongst a myriad of other souvenirs. I made me wonder if these things actually do catch dreams.

If so then that would explain why my dream catcher was in such poor condition, given that it was hanging over my bed during one of the darkest periods of my life, when I was going through a very deep depression that lasted four years, a period where, at times, I contemplated suicide.

I don’t remember any of the dreams I had during that time, probably because of some of the quite-heavy medication I was on, but if those things, even the ones you can buy in everyday run of the mill high street shops, if those things actually work, then it’s probable that mine served it’s purpose and could simply take no more of the somewhat dark matter I was offering back then.