Dreams

What are dreams but the heart and mind coming together and forming pictures of all that is within them... they can be fragile, raging, blissful and misunderstood. I don't think anyone can calculate dreams. They are what our minds make them.

Dreams for me are cruel dances with grim emotional turmoils that spin endlessly in my mind. They have been seeds of discontent and moments of unimaginable joy. Lately the plague of uncertainty and blindness have been the characters and circumstances that play out. Houses full of strangers and loved ones with me trying to make sense out of chaos. My attempts to clean around them as they rearrange everything that isn't bolted down... the feeling of helplessness when my beloved ignores my efforts while continuing to get caught up in the whimsy of the moment. My eyesight is gone, and I struggle to find my way through it all, continuing to build a resentment and disdain for everyone and everything. Waking up from these dreams means an anxiety that nearly cripples me. I realize these things are part of what I deal with on a daily basis, and I walk through reality slowly breaking free from the feelings that I've been pummeled with throughout the night.

What we struggle with during our waking hours come to haunt us in the night. There are breaks of hope within all of that - a good dream perhaps. One that allows a sense of peace and calm, or the sight of a loved one and time spent with them after years of their absence. The laughter that wakes you up and makes you smile for a moment in the bleary moments of half consciousness.

I've learned a few symbols of dreams - be it true or false, sometimes the symbols help get past the confusion and allow a sense of understanding in a way. My fruitless cleaning and blindness indicates a sense of the lack of control in my life, and the reality of not knowing what is yet to come. The way I struggle daily with uncertainty is all too real in the dreams. The people who dance through are real and imagined, and all of them subjects of my lack of trust and lack of connection. One other is when my teeth hurt, or fall out completely in the dream  - that is a sign of feeling out of control. That happens all too often in the night, and I wake up to find that my teeth actually do hurt, but most likely from clenching my jaw during the dreams.

Dreams can be controlled in a way, if I'm slightly aware of them, and think of how I can manipulate them to my favor. That happens rarely, but the depth of despair can be thwarted at times. I've never had the pleasure of altering a good dream - they seem to fall into my subconscious and play out on their own. I allow it, obviously, because they're pleasant and lovely, and I want nothing more than to relive them and enjoy the moment I'm in.

I pray often for dreams to not come at all, just so I have a peaceful night's rest. That never seems to happen, and I get angry at God for allowing such grotesque mind play to taunt me during the times I hope will be a refreshing and calm. I wonder if these things will ever end... at times it seems like an endless abyss of negativity and sadness. One can only hope that these things won't be forever.

Never Getting Over It

I don't know why, but I've never gotten over my father's death. I've had people say 'you don't have to' or 'it's impossible to do'. Therapists say I need to move through the grief process and move past the grief. I've tried, honestly... and I can't. It isn't debilitating, there's nothing I don't do because of my grief. There are things that I do because of it, like cry, or get tattoos of my father's writing on my wrist. It doesn't keep me from living, although it can be said that I could be living a happier existence. Truth be told, I don't know if I would be or not. It makes sense that I could be happier... but overall - not just in regard to my father's loss.

I've had friends recently have very vivid dreams about my dad. It's been so interesting to hear what they've dreamt, and try to decipher what it could possibly mean. I love my friends and their love for my dad - it's those friendships that mean the most in my life. I've dreamt of my dad a number of times, and two of them have been dreams I'll never forget. Vivid - colorful - real. So real. I woke up so heartbroken that it was only a dream, because it seemed almost impossible that it couldn't be reality. He was there with me, or I was in his presence in a familiar setting. Those moments after you wake from dreaming are so fuzzy - the mix of dream and reality is surreal. It made me want to go back to sleep quickly, so I might get back to that place and time, but it never seems to work.

I may have blogged about this topic before, but it has come up in recent conversations that I haven't gotten past my grief and loss, and that my father wouldn't be happy to know that I can't get past his absence. I don't know how to respond to that. I've tried, and failed. Repeatedly. For decades. Is it something that I can just harbor in my own little world, and not let go of? Is it hurting anyone else? No, but it's hurting me. I'm the one with the pain of loss that feels like it was yesterday. I know harboring grief and heartache isn't healthy... Lord do I know it. I just don't know how to let it go. Suggestions from my mother are to write down my grief and pain onto slips of paper, and then set them on fire. Letting those feelings and guilts be released emotionally as well as physically. I think of doing that, and in my heart of hearts I know deep down it won't do me any good. The things I write down are only words on paper, and won't be removed from me. It's a part of me. It's within my DNA at this point. I live with it... it lives with me.

I have friends who have lost parents at young ages, and I know they deal with feelings similar to mine, but there are times - like today - when I feel alone in my grief. My grief is compounded with a guilt over feeling it... which ends up being a perpetual cycle. People may say kind things to me in regard to this blog, and that's always special... but honestly I don't need affirmation or empathy, because this grief doesn't change.