This rather unpleasant dream began with me spying a haggard man wandering around my backyard.
(He looked like the character Chick Hogan from Bates Motel.)
My family took this man to be a prowler, lurking about. However, once I saw him right out back — in plain sight — but my sister didn’t, it became clear I was hallucinating.
In short order, I was brought to a psychiatric hospital. Upon being diagnosed with schizophrenia, they assigned me a doctor and started treating me with drugs. The drugs did very little for me, however, and I soon began experiencing perpetual states of altered consciousness.
(It's what I imagine a bad acid trip to be like, only without the prospect of the trip ever ending.)
On top of the schizophrenia, I turned out to have dissociative identity disorder, too; I manifested a split personality — a female personality who was incredibly foul-mouthed and violent.
Due to these factors, they had me restrained to my bed, though I found ways to wriggle loose.
My attending doctor appeared to me in two different forms. First she appeared to me as Rosie O’Donnell.
(Ugh.)
Then she appeared as a young, long-haired Jamie Lee Curtis.
(Much better.)
