I have been having the most weirdest, fucked up dreams lately. I assume because I am still battling this bug, plus pain, plus some fears about what is going on in the world? Whatever it is, it is some what reoccurring, partially a nightmare, partially a “hero’s moment” (that’s what I call it? Where you end up powering through and overcoming), but I almost always am aware that I am in bed, trying to sleep, but knowing I am asleep.
The freaky part is knowing that (I can hear the hubby breathing, feel him moving, etc) and not being able to control the direction, or theme of the dream, and not being able to move in real life. THAT is the nightmarish part.
I’ll skip most the details of the dream (no need for THAT deep of a look into my brain! YIKES!), but it usually involves some bad diagnoses about my health, or me being in danger in some way.
At this point, I am just going to go ahead and say that it is my brains way of dealing with not knowing WHAT the fuck is going on with my health and no idea of when the test(s) will happen. Somehow, even if I end up dying in the dream, I almost always end up either doing something I have regret not doing, or end up standing alone and being okay with it.
No CLUE what I am telling myself, but I do know that with the pain I am feeling in my arm tonight, the newly found blood when I went to the bathroom, I am certainly reliving some of those same feelings.
It’s weird how somewhere, deep in our brains, we can have answers, or even questions, but not have the slightest clue what they are in our waking moments.
I get that the winning of the lottery in my dream is my way of having a stress free, jobless type of life, plus the fact I spend a butt load to bribe doctors into performing every test in the world for everything possible, might be a clue. Maybe. But after that?
I can’t figure out so much of what I am trying to tell myself. Like, WHY am I always dying? And why am I so okay with that? It’s not like I WANT to die. Because I don’t. I mean if it happens it happens, but I am not seeking it out. For sympathy, was my other guess, but I have that from my family, even a few acquaintances, so I don’t THINK it’s that? My only other guess would be peace? I mean from the pain and what ever is wrong with me. But that doesn’t make sense to me, I mean once I’m dead, I won’t know or care what I am not feeling … BECAUSE I AM DEAD! DUH! I’ll be worm food, an experiment, or part of someone else (if anything is usable).
Now, I get other parts, like the acting or singing, those are things I wish I had followed through on in my early 20’s, but chickened out on and let others say I couldn’t or shouldn’t.
Meeting people, another obvious thing. Because I want to meet them in real life.
Some of the other stuff though … all it does is bring back memories that weren’t so great, make them worse and show me faces. WHY would I add that in there? What women (human) in their right mind wants to re-live shit times like that? And how the hell can you start remembering faces/places/things/smells after 30 plus years, when you never could before?
Has me baffled.
Thing is? After the first repeat (usually repeats go on for months before they stop), I was SURE this was going to lead to a new record low depression for me. I mean, ROCK bottom. But maybe the peace at the end, even if it is via my death, is some how preventing that? Because honestly? I have no clue HOW such horrific memories and dreamscapes can make me feel like fighting through, but it is.
Fuck if I know!
Now, someone remind me when I finally wake up (if I ever get to sleep through this pain), that I need to go get my blood test
tomor today, and call the doc who is supposed to be doing the colonoscopy/endoscope, and ask when the hell I am getting looked at. GRR
I WILL get answers even if it means I have to set my phone to record and swallow it. Damn it!
Always fighting, maybe even winning?