“Morning, honey. Howd-ya sleep?”

I have been asking my daughter this question every morning for years. Even when she was a little girl I would ask, “Did you sleep okay?” The next question: “Did you have any weird dreams?” And we would tell each other our dreams, shrug our shoulders and start the day.

I am not a Jungian – a follower of Carl Jung. I have always been intrigued by Jung’s obsession with dreams and what they mean because I have always had bad, anxiety-filled dreams. I thought understanding my dreams might help me understand my depression.

A few years ago I bought a thick biography of Jung and committed to reading it. But my dog ate it one morning while I was at the gym. Of all the books on that bookshelf, why Jung’s biography? I took that as a sign to leave my dreams alone and haven’t thought much of Jung since then.

Until today…October 7, 2009…the release date of Dr. Carl Jung’s Red Book. I have always admired Jung’s willingness to color outside the lines and his controversial Red Book is Jung’s ultimate coloring book. Jung started it in his late 30s. It is bound in red leather and the words Liber Novus – Latin for New Book – are etched in gold letters on the spine. Jung’s family has kept the book hidden for decades – until today. The Red Book, Jung’s journal of his journey into his own bizarre dream world and subconscious, hits the shelves of bookstores around the world.

I want a copy. Not just because it is a very cool looking book with amazing drawings and calligraphy, but because I want to know more about my dreams and the man who believed in their value. I want to know why I have bad, anxiety-laden dream nearly every night. I want to know why I do not have good dreams – ever. Or if I do have good dreams, why I cannot remember them but can vividly remember my bad dreams.

I believe – but do not understand – that my dreams are part of my depression. My dreams are like a sad wardrobe carefully selected while I sleep and laid out for my psyche to wear every morning. I open my eyes and I am already wearing a feeling. Sometimes I think to myself, “Wait, you haven’t done anything wrong… yet! Nothing bad has happened…yet.” If my dreams aren’t real then why are the feelings they elicit so real?

I want the bad dreams to stop. Or at the very least I want no memory of them. I want to have good dreams and I want to remember them. If I cannot control my dreams, I can at least try to understand them – what they mean and do not mean. I just want some answers and a good night sleep. Maybe the Red Book will help me. Just remind me to put it up higher on the bookshelf, out of the dog’s reach.

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From Psych Central's website:
PsychCentral (October 7, 2009)

Richard Reeve (October 7, 2009)

    Last reviewed: 7 Oct 2009