On Dreams, pt. 2

It’s really surprising I haven’t written more about dreams in this blog yet. Not only are they, as I said before, a coping mechanism for me, but in my life I have not written more on any topic (though this blog is on course to claim that title for itself).

My last post on renouncing privilege reminded me of a nightmare I once had. Now, I have nightmares all the time, and in a weird way, I even find some thrilling and enjoyable.

Not this one. This one still chills me to think about.

The dream actually had a great start. I was a beautiful woman, long hair, long legs, the works. And I had just bought an outfit that, while a little revealing, made me feel especially pretty.

I was so happy, walking down the little path I was walking down. My pace was not especially quick, thanks to my tight pencil skirt and lofty pumps, but I wasn’t really concerned with where I was going.

It’s hard for me to describe just how happy I was. I was so proud, so confident, so many things that I never felt in waking life. Like I said, I felt pretty, in a way I never have before or since.

Before I knew it, I was in the middle of a field. How I got there, I don’t know, but I wasn’t especially concerned.

Walking a bit further, I came upon some sort of abandoned building. It had a sort of a creepy vibe to it, but for whatever reason, I determined I had to walk past it.

But when I did, three men stepped from behind various crumbling structures. And they had a horrible, horrible look in their eyes.

I was suddenly aware of what I must look like to them. I was aware of how alone I was, and I was aware of how small and immobile I was. There was absolutely nothing I could do. Nothing. They would do what they would do.

I woke myself immediately, before they had the chance to get to me.

I mention this dream for two reasons. One, it is the only like it I ever have had, and in that moment I awoke, I swear I felt a level of empathy for the sort of bullshit women have to deal with that few men ever experience.

And two, that dream has never left me, precisely because I know, if I were to transition, that that is a type of fear that would no longer be confined to the dream world. It would, darkly, become an actual concern.

Not that I could or would ever be as beautiful as I was in that dream. That’s not the point. The point is, the world is much more dangerous for women, and much more dangerous for the trans community.

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