The worst stages of my early mental illness were a dream I could not wake from, a painted reality that means so much about the actual world. Painting the picture, experiencing the psychosis, can unveil truths that couldn't be exposed in the land of normal.
Last night, I dreamed I was tent camping on the beach on the ocean side of the dunes. Someone was shaking my tent, so I woke up within the dream, thanking this person who made me realize the water was washing up to me and my tent enclosure. I dreamed of dragging the tent up to the dunes while many of my tourist friends stood in ankle deep water on the beach, circled by "glow in the dark sharks" that thrilled and fascinated them, and never bit.

The glow sharks were magnificent, and the dream felt good. Countdown to reality.