Day 8- Dream Catcher

My dreams are violent, morbid and often reoccurring. Rarely do I have a dream of sunshine and puppies, celebrations and successes.

A friend shot in the neck through a screen door.

My mom ran over by a train.

My two youngest children have gone missing.

Panic stricken, anxiety-ridden dreams that have me out of breath, crying in my sleep, crying when I wake. What a mess.

I suppose I could have lied and said that my dreams are infinite in their glitter and unicorns. But I’m just not a very good liar.

My dreams are a constant reminder of how my anxiety and depression seep into the recesses of my brain.

Even when it feels as though I am conquering it all, my dreams are there to remind me how fucked up my sub-conscience remains. Damn it, I try so hard. You know, think good thoughts, think good thoughts.

I do. I swear it. How can these dreams be when my soul is happy, my spirit is grateful? I don’t want to catch these dreams. I want to send them straight back, like bats out of hell, to where they came from and shout that I won’t stand for the infiltration.

I won’t stand for trying and seeking goodness, and wanting to BE goodness only to have to surrender unwillingly in the night.

 

Advertisements

Day 7- The Rocket-ship

I imagine a rocket-ship that has one-way travel to a kinder place.

A place where we don’t need to explain how black lives matter, why transgender people and immigrants make us great and why the poor deserve equal access to education and resources as the millionaire high on the hill.

This same rocket-ship takes me away from my dysfunctional relationship with my ex-husband and children’s father-away, quickly. Grappling with emotional weariness is daunting, at best. Escape is often the most reasonable solution in my head.

I won’t lie: I have contemplated irrational escape…as a teen, as a mother, as a wife. There’s disappointment in realizing there is no rocket-ship to take me away. Disappointment that this life requires work often without reward, compassion without reciprocation, consideration while doors are closing in your face and the driver in the next lane cusses you out….

I’m tired. I know so many people who are tired, weary, depleted…there is no rocket-ship.

Somehow, we have to learn to fly, and to fly right, on our own.

Day 3- The Vessel

A vessel with which to leave, yet I’m really being carried…

Scooped up and whisked straight away to a joy that seems to pulse with a life all its own.

Life owned is a life alone. I just wanna be alone. Carried away to the quiet, the meditative.

A place that laughably, requires nothing of me. In fact, I’m giggling now. Can you imagine?

Destinations cloaked in relief and secret happiness. My minds escape is sufficient. Carries me.

Back to a family life that is my life, all its own. Loud and boisterous. Cranky and accusing. 

My life’s greatest loves and shared bliss triumphs over solitary escape because it requires everything of me.

Everything is all I have to give.