Rebuilding a Subconscious

I have always dreamed in color. I have always dreamed stories. My dreams have always been very clear. I will give you an example: I graduated with an art degree and went to work in a bookstore. Four weeks into that job, I dreamed a book cart ran over a canvas that I was painting on the floor. It was a sign of changing priorities, changing time commitments. Funny, sad, direct.

For two years I lived an insecure life. I only slept two hours at a time, would wake up, check on things, wonder how I would get everything done, then sleep another two hours and get up for good. Every day had a traumatic surprise, something that had to be dealt with that did not fit in with what happened the day before. It was never a bomb or a bullet, just some sudden drop of a trap door for one form of security or another.

When I finally got to sleep in a secure environment, I didn't dream stories or pictures. For months I dreamed black and white grids. Eventually the grids became patterns and then moving patterns, like snow blindness. I was sleeping four hours at a stretch. I would wake up high as a kite from actually getting sleep. It must be what heroin is like. If so, I see the attraction.

Then I dreamed pages of random letters. Eventually they became sentences with proper syntax that never made any sense. These were work. Then they became sentences that would make sense but with a wrong word. The word would surprise me in the context and I would wake up. So I was back to interrupted sleep.

I don't dream now. That's not true. I know the stories and pictures are back, I just can't get them.
My sleep is still way off. Maybe this is valuable for others to know. Maybe somebody with PTSD can relate to this. I don't think I have PTSD though, or rather, I don't care what they call it. I want it to be over.