gentlydented

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For the first couple decades of my life, I dreamt on a regular basis that I could fly. Someone mentioned to me that to dream you could fly meant that you believed you could do anything. For me, that was true. I honestly felt I could do anything. Slowly, as the years passed, the dream of flying became more and more infrequent. Then one night, I dreamt that I was shot while flying and the magic that made flying a possibility disappeared. I was 23 and no longer believed I could do whatever I set my mind to do.

I was mentally sick. I have always been bipolar but not once in my childhood did I think my mental illness would hinder my life in a meaningful way. Then I had a massive episode as a young adult and my life altered course. I began to live in fear of what my illness was capable of doing to me. A fear that meant I wasn’t going to conquer the world in the way I had envisioned. Life was handing me issues I didn’t know how to deal with. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, flying was no longer in my dreams. Mental illness or no, I did something I never took in account. I grew up.

One Christmas morning in my childhood, Target’s Krismutt was waiting under the Christmas tree. He was a gift from Santa to me. I hugged Krismutt and he said “Hello.” Not in a fun cute imagination way that children are prone to experience but in a voice as clear as day that came from the stuffed dog. He was not the first inanimate object to talk to me but he was my first friend. I had yet to hear the term “auditory hallucination” but at the age of seven, I knew the voices I heard weren’t normal. There was nothing to be done about the voices so I had fun with them.

I was never lonely as a child. Not with Krismutt around. He was always there to tell me a joke or give me advice with the troubles life had granted me. We would stay up late at night going over the problems of the day. I kept his talking to me a secret. I figured out that his voice, along the other objects that talked, were all a creation of my head. They sounded real and definitely not like they were in my mind. We spoke telepathically. Me with my thoughts and Krismutt with his voice. I never told anyone about my stuffed animal friend. I was afraid he’d be taken away and then I would be told I was crazy and/or I would be made fun of. I was already an odd duck, no need to burden that fact with sharing my best friend was a dog who spoke to me.

To keep Krismutt hidden, I never took him to slumber parties. Spending the night at a friend’s house was difficult. I enjoyed the company of my real human friends but I missed Krismutt’s company. As the years moved along, no one questioned to my face why I was still cuddling with a stuffed dog. Soon enough I was a 22 year old who counted amount her friends a 13 year old inanimate dog. Shortly after turning 22, I had a massive episode and it became necessary to began taking medications. The medication stopped Krismutt’s voice. I mourned the loss of a childhood friend but trying to live as normal of a life as possible, I had to say “goodbye.” It was difficult but my health is more important. To this day, I think of Krismutt with great fondness but I have no regrets in my treatment plan. Sanity is worth fighting for.

Author: gentlydented

I used to dream I could fly

My first friend, Krismutt.