So many dreams of late. I’ve been asleep so much that I’ve lived in dreams more than in real life. I have a five day stretch coming up where I get to be off from work (yaay!) so I’m looking forward to that. Colt will be finished school for the year so we’re going to hang out. He wants to take me on a picnic, which makes me smile. He quietly asked if we could get some bubbles to bring along (“I know I’m too old for bubbles mom, but I still kinda really like them: says my boy. “You’re never too old for bubbles” is what I told him and he smiled and hugged me). I’m looking forward to nothing but sunshine, bubbles and smiles, for however long the containers last. 🙂 I’m using that to combat the dream-dread that keeps creeping into my chest.
I keep getting congratulated on how well I’ve handled these past few months of my life, but really, I don’t feel much different than I used to. I have learned, somehow, to exist in physical pain all of the time without letting it dominate my thoughts or world. I recognize that it isn’t the worst pain I’ll ever feel because there is a point at which pain overtakes everything, so I’m thankful for the levels I can tolerate and just keep puttering along. I have managed to put a lot of my emotional pain in that same space that my physical pain now occupies and, although it feels hauntingly similar to the way I used to (unhealthily) cope with the bad stuff, I think it’s a little healthier because I’m not abjectly denying its existence, just not allowing it to be how I define myself and my experience in this life….anymore, anyway. Is this a form of detachment from reality? Surely. Is it going to hurt me later? I have no idea. I don’t see how it could but then I’ve always felt that way, even when doing almost exactly this was eating me alive inside. I don’t know. People keep telling me how well I’m doing and how content I seem. I don’t feel content but it’s nice to know that the appearance is convincing. Maybe I just realized that none of it really matters in the end.
It is striking, how little people really understand though. My mother doesn’t recognize my voice after a few years of distance. My friends tell me how great I seem to be feeling. One of the ladies on the front desk keeps saying “Ooh you slept for 14 hours again each night again this weekend? Wow, you must have really needed to catch up.” ?! Seriously? Why does everyone keep telling me that I must need to sleep more when all I do is fucking sleep. I don’t make a big deal out of it but they most certainly know and I have told them how much all this sleep affects my quality of life.
“You dealt with the father thing so well….” I guess I did. I mean, I didn’t bawl through my days at the office or sit on the bathroom floor wistfully dreaming about slicing my wrists but I spent countless hours being tortured by my dreams (so, my own head. Sheesh – thanks there Grainne). I carried the pain and guilt and sadness; the loneliness and dejected sense of not being wanted or belonging to anyone other than Dayne and Colt. I counted down hours each day until they were finally over and then resented the amount of sleep I got, regardless of how I wished for it to arrive. Is that handling things better? Really? I just didn’t complain about it and everyone thinks this is improvement? I guess I can see how that works but it still makes me feel so misunderstood. Then again, what can I possibly expect from the people in my life?
One of the hardest things to cope with is the dreams….the stupid dreams! No one understands that when I go to sleep at night (or through the day or the entire effing weekend) I am somewhere else entirely. I think I’m awake, I think I’m doing the things I’m supposed to be doing. I go to work, I lie down and desperately try to sleep, knowing I’ll be exhausted the next day if I don’t. Have you ever dreamed for hours that you can’t sleep? I lie there, wide awake and frustrated, everyone around me sleeping away while I get more and more exhausted but still cannot close my eyes. I wake up from those dreams feeling that same deep exhaustion, the same dreadful feeling of desperately needing to sleep, and I look at the clock to see 15 hours have passed and it’s ridiculous to go back to sleep after that much time. If I do, I generally end up dreaming the same again and the cycle repeats. Sometimes the dreams have to do with the things I hear around me, like last night….there was a terrible thunderstorm and I was dreaming that I was trying to sleep in a place that kept filling up with water. It wasn’t too bad, even though I kept drowning, waking (still dreaming) fighting for breath with my lungs burning like I was breathing fire. Not super-scary nightmare material but you would not believe how exhausting it can be to drown 10 times in a row. Dayne said I was choking and gasping; thrashing around in bed. My noises woke him over the raging storm outside and we had our window open. Cracks of thunder were so loud they shook the house and set car alarms off up and down our street.
Then I start talking/writing about the dreams and I suddenly feel stupid. Who gets this wrapped up in their dreams? Well, I don’t know anyone who dreams like me….so constantly and vividly, but still, they are DREAMS and not reality. Self inflicted psychological torture. Go me.
I wish I could stop sleeping for a while. Stop eating, stop sleeping…get my old, slender body back and stop with the crazies that the dreams bring. Wishes, wishes, wishes….and back to reality. Time to jump back on my office treadmill for a while…watch a few more hours vanish into nothing behind me.