I spent all night drifting in that wasteland between conscious and unconsciousness. Feeling for every swathe of grey, every vicious muscular twinge, trying to figure out how the brain and body knew to switch off. Wondering when and if that point would come to me, then circling back to the start of the process. Grey on grey and no sign of the subconscious anywhere,just an empty room. It wasn’t until after the furious burst of someone else’s early morning obnoxion retreated that I finally regressed into sleep. Some 20. Mins of cruel and twisted reminders of why I couldn’t drift off before, and I awoke startled, drenched in sweat and wondering if the shine had finally worn off that favourite escape of mine.
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’s a time bomb” ~kidney thieves, Arsenal
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
“Remember when you lost your shit and
Drove the car into the garden”~the national, I need my girl
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.
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
I have dreams about rapture, waking and sleeping, day and night. Do you dream about passion? Those tormenting visions of overwhelming emotions and desire teetering on the edge of monomania, too headstrong and organic for logic or guilt to sink their teeth into. Does the past get swept into fictional scenes of unbridled expression and limitless freedom? Do you long for the hurricane embrace of life and love? I’m talking about losing yourself into something or someone so fully that “self” becomes nothing but an abstract term you once read about. Are you waiting for a stranger to tell you how beautiful you are? Or for fervor to fuel you into staying up all night painting your soul? Do you seek to adore with as much passion as you crave in return?And then, when you can’t find such fervor in your existence, do you doubt yourself? Do you doubt that such visions can come true?
“I wanna hold onto nothing and ride
Like the cinnamon girl
Like a butterfly
Just hold onto nothing
And ride” ~heather nova, ride.
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