Homeopathic vivid dreams

Homeopathic vivid dreams

Homeopathy is known for giving people vivid dreams.

Since starting homeopathy my dreams have been incredibly crazy and vivid. There’s been a lot of nonsense in them but there’s also been the reoccurring themes of freak medical conditions, anger and loneliness which says a lot about how I’m coping with life as Rapunzel.

Here are some examples.

 The placenta birth

In the dream, me and a very close friend are pregnant and we decide to have a home birth together in her living room. Our experiences couldn’t be more different.

My friend is supported by her husband and has the easiest birth ever – the baby just pops out. However I’m sitting in a pool of blood, screaming in pain and there’s no one supporting me, not even a nurse. Eventually I give birth to the placenta but no baby comes out.

My friend and her husband are panicked for me. They look at the placenta in disbelief but say they’re sorry, there’s nothing they can do and they walk off happily with their baby.

A midwife eventually turns up and says: “This is very rare but it does happen. There is no baby, you only have a placenta. This will make a good case study for a medical journal”.

What the f**k? This is basically how the hospital made me feel about my illness but it’s re-told in the dream in very disturbing way.

The dream troubles me for weeks.

The Good Wife dream

I’m in a relationship with the Good Wife’s Cary Argos, which is odd as the character is too straight laced for me. We’re spooning in bed and I feel very loved and protected. I reluctantly leave him in bed and go to work. In the dream I’m a nanny for the 3 year old son of Jason, the Good Wife investigator in season 7.

After a long day looking with the toddler, Jason mischievously encourages me to fall asleep in his bed. The little boy sleeps curled up on my torso while Jason sleeps next to me. This scene of family bliss ends abruptly when Cary Argo comes storming in shouting at me in a violent, jealous rage. I protest my innocence but I know I shouldn’t be bed with Jason.

There is a psychoanalytical theory that every character in a dream represents our subconscious. The little boy sleeping on my torso and my own cheeky bed hopping (if only my life was that interesting) symbolises the desperate for love and protection I have while I am so ill. Cary Argo’s rage signifies a deep seated anger presumably at this illness but maybe also at my life in general.

Yep, in case you haven’t guessed, I’ve been binge watching The Good Wife.

The stolen car dream

Here’s another dream where my inner wrath is unleashed.

I catch three boys trying to steal my car; they can no more than 8 years old. I erupt into an angry rage, my face is red and steam is coming out of my ears.

I drag the boys into my flat and order them to sit on my kitchen chairs in a neat row. I march up and down like an army major screaming at them with so much violence that spit flies out of my mouth. The boys are trembling, one wets himself in fear.

I made a little boy wet himself? I’m a very maternal person and even the idea of responding like that in a dream upsets me.

Again I am all the characters in the dream; the angry army major and the petrified boys.

Anger has been a reoccurring theme throughout my illness. In real life my anger is deeply suppressed. I rarely do the healthy thing of expressing my feelings to the actual person. Instead I talk things through with friends and family, I may curl up into a ball and cry by myself or occasionally I lash out at the wrong things.

The illness seems to have unleashed years of suppressed anger and it is coming out in my dreams.

I’m clearly not coping with this illness.


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