Last night, I dreamed about the time in my late teens/early twenties when I was homeless, crashing on friends’ couches and living in my car when I ran out of friends.
In my dream, I’d finally managed to get my own apartment. It had been hard to get, although I can’t remember exactly how. It was small, but it was safe and bright and mine. I felt like I was going to be okay, finally.
And then one day I came home, and everything I owned was tossed in a pile outside the door. I didn’t own that much, but a lot of it had already been stolen–I don’t know how long it had all been sitting there for anyone to take. I tried to get into my apartment, but my key didn’t work. The landlord had changed the locks. I’d been kicked out. I’d done everything right, paid all my rent on time and never broken any rules, but I’d been kicked out anyway.
I gathered as much of my stuff as I could hold and ran out to my car, but it was gone too. There was nowhere of my own left. I tried calling people I knew to come and help me, but no one was picking up the phone. I was all alone.
I don’t know why I’ve been having these sad, hopeless dreams the last few weeks. I don’t feel that way when I’m awake, and I’m not dreading going to sleep. So where are these dreams coming from?