The second dream was more empowering – no tigers ripping apart dogs. I had been sleeping soundly when my son suddenly kicked me in the head at 4:30am (we have a king-size bed, but toddlers stretch horizontally because…). I angrily awoke, grabbed his foot, and somehow managed to throw him to the other side of the bed without waking him up. Then I felt startled – where was this anger coming from? I had recently come out to my wife about my doubts, and we had been carrying this stressful secret, not knowing where they would go. I began processing all of the fears I had about feeling like I was slipping, like I was losing God, faith, church, self, and I didn’t know where the story was going. I sunk back into a dreamy sleep. It was a very simple dream: I was in a dark room with a spotlight on a well filled with black ink. I leaned over the well, seeing my reflection on the oily shimmer. A voice spoke: “Chris, you wouldn’t suffer so much if you would just enter into your depression.” And so I jumped into the well.
I woke up that morning feeling like I had done something brave, and that I had done it for me. I took a leap of faith into the abyss. It was the only way to love my self.