Dream where I’m working in some sort of office. There is an abusive middle-aged man speaking to people in a rude and patronizing way. He brusquely tells me to make a copy of a large manuscript. I make the copy for him, go back to his office and hit him across the face with it. He falls off his chair and to the floor. He is bleeding and whimpering. I destroy the office. The other employees initially look afraid but then gleefully join in and join me as we smash windows and break computers.
I wake up. It takes me a handful of seconds to orient myself to “reality”. Immediately my heart sinks into my stomach when I remember I’m in my bed and that I have to live my day. I sit there for a moment and try to find that one reason…that one motivating factor…All I can come up with is “you have to”. I pour my cup of coffee out drowsily, wondering how on earth I’ll be able to do anything other than sit on my couch and see my clients. I give up. It is not even 8am and I have given up hope for the day. I’ll just watch it pass and try not to let the guilt eat me up. And maybe tomorrow will be one of those increasingly infrequent days when I feel alive.
“This will pass”. It doesn’t mean anything to me. Yes, it is true I won’t always feel this way. I might have a good day or even a good few days. And then this will come again. Whether it’s triggered by something external or I simply wake up in the fog for no apparent reason–it will come again.
It’s funny. The dream was sort of pleasurable. It felt like we were rebelling against something unjust. It was also awful. It was violent and anxiety provoking but it was okay. I didn’t mind it as much as the last two weeks where I have been dreaming of things that are sweet and sensual: people kissing me or holding my hand in a park. Those were far harder to bear because upon awakening I was left with my lonely reality. And maybe that’s what’s happening with my rare good days. When they finally come they only cause more pain. The good days, like the dreams, are just teasing me: giving me a taste of something that will get snatched away from me in a moment.
Everyday I am grieving a sort of endless grief and so I try to keep myself from it by not hoping for anything. If I can stay still and hope for nothing then I will not have to grieve. But it doesn’t work. This ancient grief: a childhood with glimpses of goodness and deserts of loneliness and fear and despair. Special moments and long bleak periods. I realize that this…is what my childhood was like. Waiting for that one day my dad would be in a good mood. Waiting for the excitement of a new video game. Waking up in pain–afraid to go to school with nobody to tell about it. This hopelessness was built into me and I feel trapped inside of it.