What its like to lose your dreams and never find them again. For me, dreaming has always been a form of escapism. Escaping from an often mundane life. Escaping as a tool of complete and utter avoidance. Escaping into the fantasies of the imagination, into a world of my own, a world where I am the creator. A safe space for me to explore all concepts, all notions and all traumas that I otherwise hide and blend systematically into my everyday life. I have always seen my dreams as being a second voice in my head. I have spent far too many moments dissecting and analysing them in an attempt to find any sense of awareness in this crazy muddled up world. I have read countless books exploring the notions of repetitive dreams, I listen to endless podcasts on the studies of Oneriology* and dream interpretation, and often have found myself  conversing with people about the adventures my mind took me on the night prior.
 
I would itch throughout the day, excited to go to sleep and see what my dream-state had to tell me and would undoubtedly wake up disappointed that the short journey had come to an end, that my hunger for reason had not been fed that night. To me, like many, dreaming is and was the ultimate, the be all the end all, the lessons of the subconscious that the conscious could not simply comprehend. A dramatised reality that is purely built up through the construction of our imaginations. So as you can imagine losing this possessive power is some what crippling. For me, it was a sudden pivoting moment. I recall waking up disappointed that the night was over, the moment I laid my eyes down to rest was suddenly cut short. Disappointed that I had woken up with no recount of the last nights journey. The disappointment paralysed me, it would loom over me for months. The idea that I had lost my subconscious paradise, my escapism, completely rattled me. I missed and I continue to miss them. It was a time in my life where I had just ended a five year long relationship, I had lost my lover and my best friend. Lost all that I had known to be comfortable and easy. I was partying a lot; drinking and lacking in the routined sleep department. Both of which deem starkly accountable for my black out sleep patterns or lack-there-of. I had lost that second voice in my head that guided me throughout my day, helped me to make crucial decisions and kept all irrational emotions at bay. My sense of self and a programmed sense of reality became blurred. It was a time whereby I was also growing older. Reality was kicking in and this fairytale world I once lived in was beginning to feel a little scary. A pandemic was on the rise and my future was a little uncertain. The fear of the unknown crept further and further into my subconscious throwing a blackout blanket on any fantasy projections. I had lost my love of sleep. The process of going to bed had become somewhat mundane. I had placed so much pressure on my desire to re-enter that dream like state that the idea had become so farfetched. I recall lying awake at night with my mind ticking over and over again until I became numb with a void that could no longer be filled. It was as if loosing that second voice had a crippling effect on my state of being. I was thinking figuratively, laterally and with little to no hypothetical\ imaginative thought. My emotions were mollified, my ability to feel standardised and my mind so goddam linear. I no longer woke up excited and trust me when you lose that feeling life just becomes simply mundane. This constant inner turmoil bubbled as my mind, my brain and my imagination were blowing fuses like an exposed electrical wire. 
In a desperate need for answers I resisted the endless sea of banked up information I had formatively stored through previous years of research. I dusted off my old books, revisited the psychology sites book marked on my internet browser and welcomed back the familiar voices found in podcasts.
 To be completely honest I don’t recall the pivotal point when dreaming resurfaced back into my life. The occurrence happened somewhere between moving interstate out of the hectic city life I was so caught up in and into the freedom of the open country hills, fresh salty air and a sea of endless green. Somewhere between remembering how it felt to fall in love again, and shortly after getting my heart broken, again. Somewhere between making new friends, and losing some. Reflecting on it now, I am content with saying that it was the long the process of self acceptance. Giving into the course of life instead of trying so hard to fight it. Becoming content with myself, rather than constantly trying or being someone I was not. Seeing the beauty that surrounds me in all shapes and forms, and ultimately allowing my imagination to slowly seep back into my mind. Force feeding the imagination is a tricky process. Like many things in life if we allow ourselves to give into rather than fight the undulating tides of the real world things systematically begin to feel a little easier. Oneirology: is the scientific study of dreams. Distinguished from dream interpretation which analysis the meanings, Oneirology looks at quantitatively studying the process of dreams instead.