I am exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My sleep has been even more sporadic than usual, and I even when I get sleep, it doesn’t make me feel refreshed. I know it’s because as my therapist said, I’m doing some fucking heavy psychological work here. No, she didn’t say fucking, but she implied it, I could tell.
When I walked into my session, I was heavy with grief. I have written about it before, but it’s lingering. I have never had someone close to me die. I have never felt this kind of grief before. I am not sure what to do about it. My body is heavy, physically. I am having a hard time keeping my eyes open, even when I’ve had relatively enough sleep. I have been crying on and off and at the silliest things. My emotions are battered, and my spirit is frayed.
As I was recounting my feelings to my therapist, my voice was low and a bit deadened. I have numbed out somewhat in order to take the edge off the pain. She asked me where the grief was and what form did it take. I said it was raw, pulsing, and almost a sentient being, and it was residing here. I tapped myself on my chest where my heart is. And, I immediately teared up.
In the days when I was depressed, I prided myself on not crying. I hated to be seen crying in public, and I tried not to cry even when I was in private. Now, I can’t seem to stop myself from crying–and I am deeply ashamed every time I do it in the presence of someone else. It doesn’t matter if it’s a trusted friend; it still feels shameful to me.
I see it as a weakness. I hate being weak. Correction: I hate looking weak. And, many of the things I excoriate myself over fall into that category.
In the session, I was saying how I know that I could not keep living the way I had been (using the term living very loosely) and that the changes I have made were not conscious choices–I just could not do the same old shit any more. I know that the changes in my family are a good thing, but it’s so fucking hard. She pointed out that I am dismantling the whole fabric of my family’s dysfunction. When I refuse to do the same old, same old, I am demanding that my family change with me.
I’ve had it. This sleep thing is bringing me to my knees. When I’m not staring at the inside of my mask and counting the seconds ticking by, I’m having dreams that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I tried to count (black) sheep last night, thanks to the suggestion of Redshirt over at BJ, but they kept breaking out into song–specifically, Thriller by Michael Jackson, complete with choreography. The sheep looked like they came from the Wallace & Gromit series, or from the stupid Serta commercials. Yes, it was good for a chuckle and a groan, but not exactly conducive to sleep.
It is funny, to me, anyway, that I am blogging about sleep rather than actually trying to sleep. As I have documented in the past, I have a very rocky history with Lord Morpheus. In fact, I have written a novel about it, including many of my more outre dreams in the three-hundred page epic. Once I am satisfied with the ending, I am going to approach Vertigo to see if I can publish my novel somehow, maybe as a graphic novel. Yes, I used Morpheus (Dream) and his six brothers and sisters as main characters in my novel. Not a good idea in retrospect, perhaps, but it was needed at the time. If you have no idea what the hell I was just saying, go to Google and look up Neil Gaiman and Sandman. Then, you shall know everything.
This is MY brain, and you’re only peeking into it. As I have blogged about before, I dream a lot. I remember at least one dream a night, and my dreams are, with very few exceptions, nightmares. Last night’s dream was no exception, but it was a strange sort of nightmare. Therefore, I am going to relate it here. Take a plunge into my very fertile subconscience.*
I should be ecstatic. In just one day, Barack Hussein Obama is going to be sworn in as President of the United States. A multiracial son of an immigrant and a single mother (not the same person, of course), is going to be the leader of our country. He is literate and eloquent, intelligent and sensitive (for the most part), thoughtful and exacting. He is gentle and strong at the same time. Oh yeah, he’s got a nice bod, too, but that’s really secondary to his mental brilliance. He also has a strong, beautiful wife who is as intelligent if not more so than he, and two beautiful, joyful, seemingly well-adjusted kids as well.