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Magical World

Wouldn't it be lovely if, with just a twitch of the nose, life, or any aspect of it could be changed. Instead, positive changes always seem to involve tremendously hard work, determination, and endless setbacks. How lovely it would be to have the powers of Samantha Stephens.

Monday, January 01, 2007

Confession for the first day of 2007

Last night I visited an old friend. I shared with her the things of my past and all that I've been working through during the past year. She told me she loved me and always would. She held me in her arms and rocked me like a child, and I didn't ever want to leave. For the first time in a very long time I cried about the things that make me ache. When I had finished, she kissed me on the forehead, hugged me tightly and walked me to my car.

I slept last night. I knew, with everyone staying up to ring in the New Year, someone would have to be ready to drive home--so I did what I normally do not--I slept for about seven hours straight. People have asked me how I survive on so little sleep, but the truth is that sleep is not a haven for me. I have not learned how to stave off the nightmares, nor how to separate myself from the feelings that come as I relive nightly the reality of my past. I need to discuss this with Therapist, but don't quite know how to admit to him that I'm afraid of the imaginary horrors I see in my sleep. I realized today that even though the dreams are not real, they represent my reality, and each time they come I relive the pain, disgust, and fear. I have to remind myself that it can't happen to me anymore. I have to try to remember that I have worth, that somewhere inside me is a strong, good person--and that's the most difficult thing. I emerge from the nightmares, sad, spent, fearful. I feel filthy, unworthy to be in anyone's presence, and I ache horribly inside.

When I'm at home and this happens, I run--sometimes more than once, until I'm too tired to think or feel. I didn't have that option today. I cleaned my sister's house, packed my family into the car and went to lunch with AtP and El Veneno. I wanted to be good company. I wanted to enjoy my last day of vacation. Instead I felt like screaming. I can't eat when I feel this way, so of course my surrogate mother, DJ, spent his entire meal asking me if I was okay. How can I answer that question? Yes, I'm fine--I'm just a horrible coward who can't recover from bad dreams. AtP said I was unusually quiet, something for which he should be very grateful, because all I wanted to talk about was how my guts are all messed up, how I resent not being able to sleep like everyone else, how I'm really feeling sorry for myself today.

Now I'm home. I'm contemplating going to sleep tonight and I don't want to. I think maybe my seminary lesson preparation might keep me up. And we've been gone for a few days, so maybe I have some cupboards I can clean out or rearrange. I'm certain I need to stay up and do the laundry. But, truthfully, I really just want to scream and cry for as long as it takes to feel better--but I have a feeling the "feel better" part might not happen for a very long time.

1 Comments:

  • At Tuesday, January 02, 2007 3:50:00 AM, Blogger G'pa Bob said…

    Writing down and understanding my dreams contributed significantly to my healing. In the nightmares I viewed from a child's point of view were grown-up messages of love and concern to myself for myself.

    And when the nightmares were replaced with pleasant dreams I knew I was well.

     

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