At least there’s this

*This one turned into a bit of a novel – sorry about that!  My dreams have a tendency to eat up a lot of my head space.  This may be entirely uninteresting…not sure…but it’s what is occupying my thoughts at this moment.*

I feel like…(searching for a sufficient adjective…) rotten.  Rotting from the inside out…outside in, who fucking cares anymore.  (Oh, apparently, I feel angry and defiant – pardon me, that wasn’t expected).

I went home yesterday in so much pain I probably shouldn’t have been driving.  I picked Colt up at the sitter (he’s on March Break, happy boy) and got home in one piece.  Colt vanished to his room to play Minecraft (his latest obsession that actually makes me really happy.  It’s age appropriate and quite involved; he’s playing ‘properly’ and is having fun…very cool for him).  I sat down on my chair/blanket and texted D to see when he’d be home.  Two hours, he said.  I flipped through Instagram for an hour, made some nachos for Colt and I, opened a beer and sat down again.  Within 15 in I was done…I could feel sleep coming for me.  I texted D again, told him I was zoning out.  He said “15 min” and I don’t remember anything else.  Mother of the year, I know.  At least Colt’s nine now and doesn’t need to be physically watched 24/7.  Anyway.

I dreamed up a storm last night, of course, which suited my mood perfectly.  Nightmare after nightmare…all about these woods I can’t seem to get out of.  I was going to just write this in my dream blog but I’ll put it here too, since it’s all I can think about and it’s not sexually graphic or gory.

First, how I feel.  Sore, lots of pain, headache is just sucking the life from me.  My eyes are heavy and I couldn’t get any make up on today as I couldn’t stop sweating after my cool shower.  I sweat all night, soaked to the skin.  There were drips coming from my head that ran non-stop and soaked my pillow, the pillow beside me and my face.  I kept waking up with my ear or eye socket full of sweat (a rather uncomfortable feeling, lemme tell you).  My comforter was soaked through; I had flipped and rotated it several times in the night.  So, wrapped in soaking wet clothes, hair plastered to my face, also soaking wet, soaked comforter squished around me, trying not to let in any outside air so I could maintain my sweat swamp atmosphere and at least stay warm.  I kept waking frozen as my blanket would start to overheat and shut off (safety device installed on purpose, by me).  The wet….everything…would cool and cling to me and I’d wake with every muscle in my body tense and my skin cold and clammy.  So that was my night.  I dashed to the shower this morning and although I was dying for some heat, I kept it cool so I’d not sweat again when I emerged but it did not good.  I paced the house dripping sweat and shivering until I managed to get my clothes on (ew) and then got outside to my car where I could directly control the temperature of the air blowing on me.  I’m doing okay now.  It’s just above freezing out there and this is my worst time of year.  It seems that cold makes my bones hurt and hot makes my nerves fire off and hovering around freezing makes both hurt.  I look like death, I’m sure, hair wet from shower in a crappy messy bun, bangs pinned back and a clenched, pale face with hollows under my eyes.  But seriously, I couldn’t care less right now.  (Been trying to look decent – keep my face alive to show them all this isn’t killing me, but really, today it’s just too much).

I’m hovering somewhere near depressed but not so much so that I can’t pull out of it at will.  This is handy, to say the least.  No outward anxiety, no panic attacks, no unnecessary catastrophizing.  (not a word, I know…)

So.  Dreams.  These woods are getting more threatening.  Last night I was in a loop of dreaming the same sort of dream, over and over, with the same sort of outcome each time, never a good one for me.  I’ll try to capture it here, please forgive me if I go a bit nutty on the detail.  There’s a feeling these dreams carry that I need to get across and I’m not sure I’m able.

I was driving in a car with several people, none of whom I know from previous dreams.  I wasn’t sure where we were going or why we were headed that way.  There were several dreams that I recall driving in from town (the town I live in, in dreams) and I managed to get ahold of where, exactly, these woods were geographically located on my ‘map’.  It was helpful, knowing where I was because I knew I could get back out.  Always makes me feel better.

We were driving down the road that leads to the houses where my friend lives, the girl I’m so obsessed with following/finding/catching up with.  As we drove by the house I stuck my whole head out the window and tried to see if anyone was inside through the windows.

“I know the people who live there…” I told my car companions.  No one seemed to care.

We passed another house in this sparsely laid out neighbourhood and I recognized the place where Tom and his wife, D and I had spent that weekend drinking too much and mourning the death of someone I can’t place now.  I watched as we passed by but it looked empty, as I expected for some reason.

The driver carried on down the street which turned to a packed gravel road and then to a loose gravel one, rarely used.  The trees were not manicured here and roots erupted from the ground everywhere making the ride a bumpy one.  Bumps hurt my back but no one seemed to care. I didn’t bother complaining.  Suddenly, from the driver’s side my eye caught a blur speeding toward us, white, I thought, about the size of a basketball.  The driver swerved to avoid it and it hit a nearby tree spattering against it like a paintball.  Within seconds the substance began to smoke and bubble, eating a hole in the tree everywhere it touched.

“Holy shit did you see that?” I asked my car mates.  They were as bothered by it as me.

We pulled over, nowhere, and the passengers filed out of the car, leaving me behind.  They walked, single file, into the woods and I sat where I was as they disappeared from sight.  Once they were gone I moved to the driver’s seat and since the car was still running, I made an awkward three-point turn and took off back the way we had come.

As I drove, more of the white projectiles flew past in my peripheral and I could smell the wood dissolving from contact with them.  It wasn’t a pleasant smell like a campfire but something caustic and violent.  I was only thinking of getting out of the woods as I flew down the gravel road kicking up a massive dust storm behind me.

I sped past the houses I’d spent so much time in and nearly lost control of the car as I took a fast and tight left hand turn onto the main road.  White projectiles whipped past me throughout the journey and ate holes in anything they hit.  I had no idea how I had managed to avoid them.  I was alarmed when I realized that they were not stopping as I left the woods behind…I had assumed they would stay there somehow.  A large splat drew my attention as a tractor-trailer parked on the side of the road took a hit and began to hiss, smoke and dissolve before my eyes.  It was then I realized I’d never outrun them and stopped the car.

I sat still, counting breaths as my car began to take its assault.  The first hits were from behind and I tried not to watch the glass melting in my rearview mirror.  The metal lines embedded in my rear window, used to heat the glass in winter, sparked and caught fire like a sparkler from a fireworks event.  They burned quickly as the glass took on a liquid form around them.  The metal smelled rusty and poisonous as it melted away in chunks.  The second to last hit got the back seat where I had been sitting on the journey into the woods and I knew the next would get me where I sat.  I closed my eyes and waited, seconds stretching into hours, and the hit just didn’t come.  I opened my door and got out, stood in the middle of the road and suddenly noticed that my car mates from earlier were now standing in the ditches on either side of the road I was on.  They weren’t doing anything, just standing there, watching and it gave me the creeps.

A high whine caught my attention and I turned to see a white projectile zooming directly for me.  I opened my arms to it, tipped my face to the sun and closed my eyes.  When it hit I felt a heat in the core of my being and the air around me seemed to burst into flames.  I was lifted by the force of impact and thrown but I didn’t ever hit the ground again.  I vanished from this earth in a sizzling fiery pop and I was gone.

I woke up, soaking in my own sweat, frozen, clammy and unable to move with my comforter bunched around my neck, both hands clenching it to me.  It took me a while to find the power to roll over and turn my blanket back on.  I lay there for a few minutes, eyes wide in the dark room, and asked my brain to kindly stop with the dreams of death and went back to sleep.

The dream carried on all night, different scenarios, different threats, same ending.  I found myself in the car again when I slept, same group, same road into the woods.  I told them several times that we would die if we went in there but they didn’t seem to care.

One time, as I made my way back to town, some of my more regular dream friends were riding along with me.  In one dream one looked at me and said:

“Well Grainne, it could be worse.  You could be dead.” To which I just looked at him, expressionless.

“I’m not positive that’s a fair comparison.” was all I could say.

There were dreams where I was inside one of the houses in the woods and there was something trying to get in the door…a dog or a cat, I thought, scratching at the wood.  Every time I went to peek whatever was out there would force its way in and I ended up having to watch my friends and family get attacked and, eventually consumed by the beasts.  I was left for last every time.

The last dream I had involved Colt and D.  We were in a city centre…charming though so likely a smaller town.  It was winter, snowy and cold and christmas lights were strung through the stick like trees planted along the road edge.  Someone had taken a huge amount of time to weave tiny white lights along every branch and twig…it was quite lovely to see.

There was a book store that also carried little treasures; gemstones, glass jewelry that was obviously hand-made, little kitschy gifts and book marks…nice little place.  There was a book inside, bound in red leather with gold inlays and a full colour picture on front that looked as if it had been carved into the leather.  It had such charm and the place smelled like expensive candles and incense, even from the outside….but it was the book I was interested in.  I think that the book was for sale but the plan was to steal it by distracting the clerk.  D was going to ask her questions and I was to slide in behind the counter, grab the book and leave the store.

We milled around out front, waiting for the store to be empty before we attempted our heist.  I didn’t want anyone seeing me take it.  Again, I’m not sure why I couldn’t pay for it…theft is not in my nature by far, but it was very important somehow.

I opened the door and a lovely little bell chimed, announcing our arrival.  The store clerk was older, kind and not suspicious of our small family and greeted us with a smile.  I can’t recall why, but, I couldn’t find, or take, or hide the book and aborted our mission almost immediately.  D was unhappy with me.

“Now what will we do, Grainne?”  He asked solemnly.

I couldn’t think of an answer.  I had no idea what we would do.

Such a hectic night and it ended nowhere.  People I loved were dead, something unexplainable was coming to kill me for starting something I hadn’t finished and I couldn’t take the book that I knew had all the answers.  I was overheating, sweating, freezing and clammy and the pain inside my body swelled and receded like a tide…it’s still doing that; nearly overwhelming me then rushing backwards leaving me light-headed and aching.

So yeah.  I’m not depressed but my subconscious is trying to kill me.  Six of one…I guess.  There doesn’t seem to be much I can do.

Crap.  😦

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About Grainne

My name is Grainne. This blog has been with me for years now and has served as a journal, a confessional, an outlet and a place for me to create and express my love of life. Thank you for stopping by and for becoming a part of this life long journey of mine. I appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to do so. :)

10 responses to “At least there’s this”

  1. Mental Mama says :

    I cannot even begin to understand how you can have such terrifyingly vivid dreams all night and then get up and function. You really are Wonder Woman.

  2. ~meredith says :

    You know, I don’t know your age, Grainne, and that’s just fine… but your description of sweats and cold during the night remind me of a period I went through in my mid-forties… and sometimes, just recently. For me, they related to peri-menopause and my inability to combine it with alcohol. I drank heavily when I went through the period of heavy sweats and chills during the night, and the sweats and chills were equal in their impact. My therapist suggested aerobic exercise and an end to my experiment with alcohol poisoning. I wasn’t going to die, but I could, possibly, live another fifty years with unnecessary body damage… so, you know… Lately, though, my wife and I have had an occasional whiskey and every time I do… sweats. Not as fierce (because fierce drinking is no longer part of my script), but I hate it, anyway, and my body’s aging… what a surprise… so there’s that.

    Your dream reads like the book you couldn’t steal. Do you ever make drawings of things from your dreams? I know sometimes dreams are just mental ways of clearing out random mumbles, but I worked with a woman who taught me to make cartoon strips of the sequences of significant dreams so that I could look at them. Sometimes, I found great insight doing this, so just passing it on.

    This really is a grunge time of year, isn’t it?

    Wishing you the best,
    Meredith

    • Grainne says :

      Thank you Meredith! I really appreciate the insight here. I used to drink almost every day, trying to cope with life but since I’ve been taking narcotic pain meds I’ve stopped almost entirely. The beer I opened last night only had a sip out of it before I crashed and that always seems to happen when I feel this way. I figure its my body telling me “No” and I tend to listen. That said, it’s not entirely out of the question that something I’m eating/not eating or drinking is making things worse.

      For a while, everyone thought it was the medication but they are all convinced otherwise these days. Changes in my period and ovulation backed up the peri menopause idea and away we went. It used to only happen around my cycle but is currently nightly. Not sure why.

      I’m 38, btw. I have it in my profile so it’s not private…just thought you’d like to know.

      The dream book…hmm, interesting thought. I’ve often considered writing it all out and seeing if I can make a novel of it but it’s so hard to focus there for long periods of time without paying too close attention to the dreams. (I tend to get too involved if I don’t ignore them to some degree).

      I’ve never really tried to draw anything from my dreams…I’m a pretty terrible artist lol. I have, at various points in life, created maps of the areas I’ve visited as it’s been going since I was five years old. I’ve seen a lot of places in those dreams and remember them while dreaming like regular memories. When I wake, things go slightly out of focus like with regular dreaming. I’m going to try to draw some things I remember, talent or crap, they’ll just be for me right? Thanks for that suggestion.

      xx Grainne

      • ~meredith says :

        The less you think about drawing skills, the better. The woman I worked with taught me to draw cartoon frames sequencing the overall event, not bothering with details unless they were significant. Then she’d encourage me to look at the drawings a couple of days later, making brief notes of anything that seemed missing, disordered, or out-of-context. It helped me so much… I cannot tell you how much I thank her for the wisdom to this very day.

        P.S. Sweats suck, I still have not reached the threshold of true menopause, and I’m sick of ever-lasting PMS (so is my wife… I go for a lot of walks in the evening–oh! which helps with the sweats, by the way.

        Take the best of care and know you’re in my thoughts.

        Meredith

  3. rootstoblossom says :

    We should get together and pitch our dreams to Steven Spielberg to direct. I think these dreams are a function of the PTSD, since dreams happen in the memory area of the brain. So like our flashbacks, our dreams are too real as well. Sounds like you feel like life is attacking you, and well, that seems fairly accurate some days. How terrible to feel yourself heat up and disappear? That one would be hard to shake. Take care, as best you can.

  4. KittyHere says :

    You are so expressive with your photography. Attempting to work through your dreams and issues visually might really help. It is about the theraputic process not a museum worthy product.

    • Grainne says :

      This is very true. I suffer from a “if I can’t do it perfectly, I won’t do it” attitude often. I see that in Colt…poor kid. Thankfully, there’s never an end to the process of learning about yourself. I’m quite interested in this idea of visually processing the dreams. I tried to start sketching last night on a drawing app but I think it needs to be more tactile and personal…pencil on paper kind of thing. Very interesting. xx

      • KittyHere says :

        I have been told “self sabbatoge” is another term for a perfect or not at all approach. And I do not like that phrase so I push myself to try and try again. Still there are some things no one no how will get me to attempt.

      • Grainne says :

        Excellent point Kitty. I’m the worst for that…. Thanks for the comments – you always see the other side of these things for me. xox

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