So much has changed… so much…

I started following a group on Social Media a month ago for BPD. Then I joined one for depression. Today, I made one for rape survivors. So much happened today.

I had a dream. It was a nightmare, but I didn’t know it at the time.

I dreampt I was inside a submarine run on the old diesel engines from WWII. It broke down and sank to the sea bed. Everything was red. The lights—like in Crimson Tide—and blood… There was blood and corpses everywhere. There were only a few of us left. We were military, but we were good enough. We searched the ship for a way out, but were trapped in the hull. Just when we thought we found aid, pirates came—African pirates like in Captain Phillips. We never saw their faces. We never saw them, but we could hear them. We could feel them only a few steps behind us. Just a room away. We ran, but they kept up. We hid, but they found us and then… they left. Or so we thought. We dropped our guard down and came out, our defenses still high. We dared to hope just as a door opened from above and a shoot dropped a brown “liquid” down. It stank and one of the women there screamed. Every one started to run and I knew what they were going to do. The pirates were emptying their sewage into our sub. They were going to drown us in feces. I ran… no place to go… and then I woke up.

I’m suddenly embarrassed to talk about what happened to me. I don’t know what “embarrassed” is really. I haven’t felt it in decades. It’s like “ashamed” and “shy” together, but not quite. It’s so strange. I’ve written and published a book about all the horrific things I lived through. Why do I feel embarrassed now? To what end?