Have you ever dreamed the perfect dream to only have it turn into a nightmare? I don’t mean a wet dream, though those can be quite nice, I’m talking about a dream so perfect – a perfect day, a perfect love, with perfect weather, in a perfect location, experiencing perfect emotions, perfect peace; happiness; just sincere happiness; nothing extravagant, simply small, but so full of love?
I had one of those dreams last night. I was walking down a trail, someone was holding my hand, that’s all I remember is the hands; our fingers entwined. I heard laughter. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or his. We were just walking. The sun shone down on us, the wind was cool and soft. Everything was green, there was so much green. But, it wasn’t the scenery that made it a perfect dream. I don’t even know if it was the company, but it was the feeling.
I didn’t feel scared. I didn’t feel alone. I didn’t feel rejected. I felt complete. I felt content. I felt happy. I felt at ease. I trusted who I walked beside. I was happy with who I was. I felt loved – completely loved. I just knew – I KNEW that I’d never be alone, that I was whole, and that no matter what happened in the world, I was going to be okay.
Then I woke.
I tried so hard to go back to sleep. For that dream, I’d choose never to wake. What hurts most is knowing it is all just a dream. I’m left wondering why I can’t have that in my life right now. It seems I live from one trial to the next. While I have moments between, during, before, and after each trial, each testing, it doesn’t seem like my life ever clicks to where I have a moment’s rest.
I’m so tired. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of struggling. I’m tired fighting. I’m tired of losing. I’m tired of starting over. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of being rejected. I’m tired of feeling helpless. I’m tired of surviving. I’m tired of having to climb out, climb up and climb over. Can’t I stand on top for a moment? I’m sure it’s just my imagination that there are people out there in this world with an easy, happy life – devoid of disaster, tragedy and chaos. I’m sure I torture myself with wanting something that doesn’t exist.
When we fight for something, we fight for a specific outcome. I’m pretty strong most days, keeping purpose in front of me, encouraging myself forward, pushing myself with the strength to put one foot in front of the other. But, there are some days when I’m not strong at all and I lose sight of that hope, and I don’t remember what I’m fighting for.
But what choice do I have? I’m still here. I’m still breathing. My heart still beats. It doesn’t just stop, no matter how much I want it to just stop. I can try to numb it with alcohol, but that won’t do anything to change the situation –except only to make it worse. I can try to mask it in a vain relationship, but like the alcohol, it’ll only lead to something worse. I’ve tried to exercise it away, meditate through it, and vanquish it with prayer – but it’s still there. I still wake up every morning. My prayers go unanswered. My thoughts torture me. My body constantly aches from the extreme physical measures I put it through.
I’m split in two. There are two parts of my soul, separated, that keep me from being whole. I feel one part shutting down more and more every day. There’s the emotional me – and the practical me. My practical side is a work-a-holic who thrives in work. I’m most accepted when I work. I’m valued most for what I can do for others, not simply for who I am. That’s great for business – and business is getting better, but the emotional side of me suffers.
I don’t know how to let that part of me be free. I’ve kept her hid for so long trying to protect her, that putting her back in her box is easy… way too easy. Every day it gets harder to try and balance the two, to make room for her, to believe she’s important. She feels too much. She wants too much. She’s a naïve child who doesn’t understand and believes in stupid shit like love – believing it’s the answer to everything. She believes in God, miracles, positive thinking, success and romance. She’s got a big imagination, but her dreams torture the practical side of me, overwhelming me with faith and killing me with hope. She’s the dreamer and I’m the one left to clean up the mess her dreams leave behind.
It was her dream I had this morning. I want her to have it so bad, but I can’t give it to her. I can’t make it happen. I can wipe her tears away when she wakes.
My dream, the practical side of me, is that tomorrow I’ll be strong again and forget this moment of weakness. It serves no purpose.
Till next time,