untangling this bedragled psyche

My subconscious is trying to tell me something. I really wish it would be a bit more direct and less distressing in its cryptic and undulating efforts.

Yes, I’ve been dreaming again – and no, we are not talking rainbows and unicorns and happy fluffy clouds.

Attempting to fall asleep is challenge enough on nights when my overactive parnaoia tells me that I don’t breathe enough and if I fall asleep I will die from asphyxiation (way to go brain, I thought you had a doctorate?). But eventually I made it there and hoped to escape the fears and frustrations of real life but what met me was actually far far worse.

I dreampt that my grandmother was still alive, albeit gravely ill. A grand concert had been arranged in her honour in a huge theatre hall – the place was packed out with her friends and family and everyone else who loved her even from afar. I sat close to the stage with her and she seemed worried – she was asking me about her symptoms that she was scared about. I reassured her as best I could, knowing deep down that these signs were  portent of the  shallowing of her vital signs into the beyond. I had to leave for a moment, and when I returned she had gone – whisked away, I was told, to hospital with my mother and brother. No-one could tell me which hospital or what had happened, and I ran out immediately to see if I could catch up with them before the ambulance left but there was nobody there. What followed was a typical dream scenario – I needed to return to my seat to recover my phone to ring the hospitals but I couldn’t find my way in. I repeatedly found myself being spun around in corridors and wandering down precarious steps with the lights flickering off, I simply could not find my way back despite the growing frustration and  fear, the right door refused to show itself and my exhausted unconscious eventually spat me out of the building, leaving me unable to get back in.  A female friend hugged me and took me back to her hotel room to try and get some rest, and she went to bathe while I fruitlessly tried with my sudden inability to read or recall numbers, to use the predictably dead room phone. When she came back out, she was dressed in red and black lingerie with deep red lipstick and dramatic black eye makeup, she glided on over to me, clearly determined to distract me from my distressed state, but despite the allure I chose the weight of rejecting someone over the guilt of not trying every possible route to getting to my grandmother before she died. When I left the hotel, the world had been sucked inside out, and the theatre no longer stood where it once had. I was at the centre of a hurricane of sadness and guilt with no place to go. Unable to resolve this dream scenario, my subconscious moved on to another plane and whatever happened thereafter was nothing to me, nothing to put between the trauma of what happened there.

How can one person contain so much unexpressed guilt, be it real or not. What the hell do I feel so guilty for? If I don’t work out the puzzle I wonder one day if I will just explode and scatter all this oppressive horror back into the cosmos where it belongs.

 

“they really don’t believe her
she keeps it all a secret
found the Golden Muses
doesn’t need to prove it

(She Waits)
she’s a time bomb” ~kidney thieves, Arsenal

 

Disenchanted dream

I had a dream that you were hiding behind my father’s face.
A steady stream of disappointment in spite of my striving,
Issuing from that angry mouth.

So I ran for the trees.
Barefoot, tearful but free.
My cream sequinned gown catching on the low hanging branches,
The chill creeping into my bones
and yet,
I would not look back.

A little girl came running after,
Sent to bring me home,
Or suffer the guilt of her abandon.
Yet I ushered her away,
And sat down to watch the sunrise
Of a new day.

© PickledSparklyMoosePrincess – author

Zombies, dolls, chickens and drugs

I love that I can tell my mum some med side effects and she can conclude its like being on a trip..way to go mum using the word ‘trip’ appropriately, and then no reaction when I say yeah, except I didn’t take any fun drugs this time. 🙂 I’ll bet she was reminiscing again about that time the police demonstrated what burning cannabis smells like.

It’s been an odd few days. I had some diazepam inspired dreams of zombie invasion, where I went venturing too far outside of the safe zones, found me some zombies and got saved by Lister and Rimmer (of red dwarf fame (if you don’t know red dwarf then go away, watch every episode and then, and only then, will I consider speaking to you again)). So clearly I proposed to both on the spot and they supplied me with a fine quality conker. A conker? Yes. Don’t you know anything about zombies? You have to beat them at conkers before you can kill them…only, those zombies, they play dirty and you pretty much have to smash them in the head with your supreme king of conkers then just leg it. Which we did, trundling back through the doors and corridors that took us back to the heart of safety, but having to look unflustered and inconspicuous, like, yknow, we totally didn’t just leave the back door open so zombies could get in….

In addition, I saw a naked doll tied up to a van’s exhaust this morning. This made me smile because it looked really grubby and it was kind of a dark image…some people are clearly more weird than I am, so I’ll either have to up my game or accept the wonder that is the insanity of others!

You can probably tell that I’m feeling much better 😀

Here are some psychedelic chickens

image

“Remember when you lost your shit and
Drove the car into the garden”~the national, I need my girl

Storms through clouded glass

image

Not such a peaceful start to the week, chattering dreams, condensation on the glass, but maybe some beauty can be found. I trace my finger gently around the window pane, somewhere below the squeaking point, sways of idle swirls emerging from my heat. When the balance of clarity and mist is met, I step back and observe the view through my protective design,  It may not be art but I wish I could hold this moment in time, and say I made my temporary mark, but no such things exists in this space, and so I watch my design fading back into misty oblivion. No-one is here to see my scrawls, is there anyone out there anymore? Any more blurred faces on pinched frames pruning their roses and feigning indifference to the thought I cared? Repeatedly singed fingertips remind of my affliction, and so with sooted digits I systematically smeared all the faces, all the eyes dislocated from their sockets and spread around their sorry bodies. I had lost my spectators, and individuality was something reserved for myself and those able to show their fearless expression through even the murk of this clouded existence. I suppose somewhere behind the blurs there must still be a whole other world, but I have tasted its bitter fruit, and was beaten for spitting sour seeds to make a picture in my head. A matter of taste. Artless. Soul bleached yellow and mildewed beyond redemption, so I’m told, but how can small fragments of beauty spill from even such a thing as me? All this flocculant meditation before so much coffee has passed my lips.

I guess I took it pretty hard when something or some one who tickled my slumbering thoughts and graced poetic intentions bit hard when I was only playing tough to protect them. If only I didn’t care, but once someone pushes through my smokey screen, that’s it. I care too much. It’s too late by the time I finally focus on their features. I trusted them enough to let them see me. Too stupid to suspect a thief or spy in my house. I need them to hurt me enough that I can smudge their image from my castle gallery, but some spirits just won’t put their teeth in, leaving me to wonder if they even meant it. Well? Did she? My precious circle is closing in, the fog thickens and I have seen in dreams the storm circling me until only I remain in the eye right until it blinks out. If I could paint, I would capture the stormy smudged perimeter of my tornado the dust of some thousand strange faces, as the instant the lashes sweep me out. I’m staring into all those eyes, one behind the other, wondering what my protection has cost me.

“I swore that I
Could survive any storm”
~tori amos, snow cherries from France

A drunken dream or broken seam It doesn’t matter how you find me

Here I sit munching salt and vinegar snakes and ladders (I kid ye not, clearly a marvel of a consumerist society), and listening to Leona Naess as she sings…

“All the shadows have made ladders
And all that mattered, yes all that matters
Is lifted from view”

..and I begin to wonder if there is going to be some significance of ladders in today for me. I dreampt about putting my red trousers in a full bath of water, I wonder what Jung would have to say about that. Well according to a dream symbol website (clearly this is totally legit stuff…) trouser (or pants) are meant to be a sign of covering up your sexual feelings or the hidden source of your true energy, red corresponds to sexuality and passion, and bath represents confronting feelings of guilt or negativity. Gosh, that’s rather a neat story, it sounds like my unconscious wants me to become a burlesque dancer!

I’ve made leaps and bounds in the area of considering myself worthy of nice things. I have bough myself a new summer dress, new earring studs that are in the shape of zipper tabs (this amused me greatly), a necklace ( of the simple black lace choker variety) and a thoroughly sexy white (GOOOD LORD! I KNOW!) top for summer riding – you know the type that comes with some kind of flattening (yes I meant that not flattering) under support or whatever. Why can’t they make those things at the same price in another (ANY OTHER) colour – seriously Horses + exercise + white = visible filth. Even though I’m home alone cleaning the bathrooms, I donned the dress and necklace so I feel awesome regardless :D. I don;t know if its the bleach or or what, but I have a suspect throat tickle coming on and I really hope that the infectious lurgey going around the lab hasn’t decided I’m a worthy hostess. I was so certain this time around that I wasn’t going to get sick, I didn’t even breathe through my tshirt when the inflicted zombies were nearby (a known psychological deterrent for viruses that I mocked a colleague for doing). Curses.

Right, well, reading back through the above,  it seems a lot like I don’t actually have anything to say at the moment, just inane drivel, so all I have to say is that I’ll be looking out for ladders for the rest of the day.

you already got a lyric in the title from Leona naess’ promise to try, so you don’t need another one.

There’s not a lot that I know any more, but I know when a good bridge is burning

I’ve been absent. I’d love to say that this time has been spent on some rewarding creative project but, y’know, it hasn’t.

I found myself dreaming last night about performing an upcoming experiment, but the cells got infected and it all went wrong…it’s really a bad sign when you think about your research so much that you are dreaming about bacteria interloping in your experiments…but in all honesty, it could be a premonition! Antibiotics at the ready eh? Oh also dreampt about the giant supermarket that my brain thinks is at the Logan Airport departures lounge. Seriously brain, we’ve been there, there is no such thing, so why do you keep telling me there is?

Not much is going on in the theorising, literary part of my brain (as you can tell from the snoreworthy diarist style of this post) because I’m busy assimilating some of Carl Jung’s theories of psychological imbalances. I’ll report back once I’ve garnered enough info to write about it.

What I have done though is write a precis of my anorexia recovery on a support website so that it will give some hope to those who are questioning whether recovery is really possible. As you know by now, it is! I’ve been clean from the drug of ED for over two years and am now strong enough to start helping others. Of course I tried before but there is only so much a sick person can do to help another sick person…the hypocrisy is unbearable from both sides!

I’m disappointed in myself that I’m not looking a little closer to home and making the effort for family and friends…every week I resolve to contact several people, but as it’s been so long for many, I’m scared of the reaction or lack thereof. I’m reminded as I write this, of the wisdom of one Mr Barker:

“A feeling of anxiety is the sure and certain evidence that you should do this”

Alright then Clive, I’ll bite some bullets.

P.s. The title comes from a Poe song called dolphin

Thought processing makes for a curious bedfellow

My little brain is obviously trying to process some stuff. I’m not sure how far it got but it took me through a peculiar story in the process. I know that some people hate reading about other people’s dreams, so I’m warning you right now, this is literally about a dream.

I was a fresher at university and quite a few people I knew were also (even though they are quite different ages but alas). The highlight of the week was a giant student sleepover where we were all invited to the university library where we, dressed on our jimmiejams could set out our duvets and grab a beer and get stuck into the afterdark campus treasure hunt quiz. So I was pretty excited about that cos it sounds pretty awesome to me. My mum was driving us there and we went to pick up some of the others from their house. When we arrived, everyone else (not me) was wearing their nightwear. I entered the bedroom of an unknown bloke and threw out the stuff in my bags and to my horror, I did not have my pj’s! Nor did I have spare socks and underwear. All I seemed to have packed was a ton of jewellery, many evening dresses and pairs of heels. I thought through the presentable nightwear I own and struggled to think up a newish, clean, moderately cute or attractive get-up. I then suddenly remembered about my horrible night sweating problem and freaked out about getting all sweaty, gross and stinky in a room full of people I was desperate to impress. I’d have to wear short pj’s but my knees were covered in scabs and my legs needed shaving. I figured mum could take me home together PJs quickly so took a deep breath and repacked my nonsense. Of course we were already running late and there was a deadline for arrival. When I came out into the kitchen I found that teams for the quiz/hunt had been set out and I had been mentioned only by my email address, not name like everyone else, and singled out as an outsider to their group. At this point I threw my toys out of the pram and told them I wasn’t going – and gave no explanation. They trundled off happily to the library, leaving me alone and unsure how to get home. I trudged across some field, reasonably sure I was heading the right way and I caught myself regretting having a tantrum and not asking about the team stuff. I then thought maybe I WOULD turn up at the library anyway, even if I was late and even if I didn’t stay all night…and then more thoughts….ohmygod I don’t have any meds with me, no floss, no cetaphil, no toothbrush, no adapalene, NO DEODORANT for god’s sake! I was going to be a hideous acneridden stinkfest of a beast, and now my nose was running uncontrollably. I had to find my way home but I ended up in the middle of the hunt. I sat, nose dripping, and watched a couple of stages while the teams pondered the clues, tried to make sense so they could move on to the next, and I knew the answers but it was too late. I’d chosen my bed and it was cold.

In case you were wondering, I didn’t dream about Cecil and I think a fox kindly cleaned up the murder scene last night.

“Between the road and the waters edge
An acolyte of disorder
Then you’re burning my dreams of Nothing”~Idlewild, dreams of nothing