Last night, I dreamed that I was living in the post-apopalypse with my family. We had trouble getting fresh water, and I wished we had a water purifier. We would wait for it to rain, and then collect as much water as we could.
The winter was cold, and we lived in the basement of the house I grew up in.
Of course finding food was a problem, and I wished I had seeds to grow vegetables. It seemed like such a good deal to get food from planting and caring for seeds.
I do so hope this dream wasn’t a warning, because I have no intention of preparing for the apocalypse. Given my illness, I doubt I would see much of the post-apopalypse clearly enough to care for seeds. As much as I would like to help my family during a post-apocalypse, I’d be more of a problem then a help. My family’s hearts would be ripped out as they watched me go insane, and could do nothing to stop it.
Historically many families have helplessly watched their loved ones go insane. Historically must Schizoaffective Bipolar people have had no medicine to cure them. There was no escape. I wonder how many people burned as witches were actually mentally ill. The behavior that made neighbors point them out, was due to illness.
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