This one’s from a few weeks ago, but it stuck with me.
Not as bizarre as the avocado or Friar Tuck dreams—just quiet, tense, and way too familiar.
🗓️ Dream Date: July 12, 2025
🛏️ The Dream
I’m in the kitchen, cleaning up a mess—because of course I am.
Music’s playing. I put on Thrice, something I actually like.
Then the ex comes storming in. “Who is this? I don’t like it.”
He turns it off. I tell him it’s Thrice. “I like them.”
He says, “Why would you put that on?!”
And I reply, “I just told you I like Thrice. That’s why I put it on.”
Then the two cats we used to share walk into the kitchen, responding to his outburst.
He turns to them and says, “Have you come to rescue me?”
Like he’s the victim.
🧠 The Analysis
(ft. ChatGPT, aka my dream therapist who works for free)
This one hit different.
It wasn’t chaotic or surreal. No explosions. No medieval haircuts.
Just a quiet reenactment of a pattern I know too well—
me trying to exist, him making it about himself,
and me being forced to justify something as simple as playing music I enjoy.
The kitchen scene is no accident.
That’s where I used to shrink myself the most—trying to cook without “bothering” him,
trying to survive without taking up space.
And the cats?
Dream logic delivered them like little emotional witnesses.
One of them I still have—because I saw how he treated him.
Even my subconscious knows who the real victim was.
💬 Afterthought
I woke up feeling a weird mix of empowered and annoyed.
Annoyed he showed up at all, but proud of Dream Me for standing her ground.
Sometimes healing isn’t loud.
Sometimes it’s just blasting Thrice in the kitchen (or cranking it on the way to the gym) and not turning it off when someone storms in.