They're Just Dreams

Just over a year ago, I had a dream that T&R had put Nadira into an institution because she had been diagnosed with depression, at the ripe old age of 4. The dream took place in the institution - I was standing in a room with T, looking through a one-way mirror into a room where Nadira sat on a chair in a circle with several other children, who were presumably there for the treatment of similar ailments. There was a woman there too, on her own chair in the circle. She was talking to the kids, and Nadira was sitting there calmly listening, but I lost it. I began to cry, and begged T to bring her home. I told her that I knew it was hard, but that we'd all help her, and please please don't keep Nadira in there, please bring her home.

I woke up from that dream crying, and called T immediately to make sure Nadira was okay, which of course, she was.

Almost exactly a year later, I have another dream. This time, I'm on the second floor of a school, looking through a window into the gymnasium on the first floor. Nadira is there, as she is now at 5 years old, in her gym class with several other girls. Nadira is content playing on her own, but I can her the other girls talking behind her back, saying "she's so mean" and "she's so selfish, she never shares" and "I hate her". Then one of the girls walks up behind Nadira, grabs her by the hair, throws her on the floor and proceeds to beat on her. And nobody does anything. I begin crying and screaming for somebody to help, but for the few more moments that I lived this dream, nobody helped her, and I didn't know how to stop it.

Again, I woke up crying hysterically. I couldn't even talk for several minutes to explain why I was crying - probably not a nice situation for the company I kept that night to wake up to himself.

I relayed this dream to T, and we talked about the similarities to the dream I had the year before. Nadira being in a bad situation, being unable to help, always watching from the outside. Nadira of course is fine, and T asked the inevitable question: "Are you sure these dreams are about Nadira? Maybe in your dream she represents someone else...maybe you?"

Nadira is a crazy, kooky, amazing kid. She's loud and outgoing, and in many of her loud and boisterous ways, she's like neither of her parents. They are both so easy going and relaxed, and she's always on 11. She does remind me a lot of me when I was little. Maybe it is me in the dreams after all.

Black Cloud

There is a monster on the television show LOST. To call it a monster sounds a bit simple and childish, but that's what they call it. They don't know what it is or where it came from. It comes out of nowhere - though often it is probably triggered by something. Maybe if they knew the trigger they could stop it.

It is a huge, black, dense cloud of smoke. It comes from above or under the ground or out of the woods. It appears out of nowhere, and then wraps itself around you, enveloping you, suffocating you. Or it can grab your legs right out from underneath you and pull you down into a hole that's impossible to get out of. While you're in that hole, or enveloped, suffocating in the black cloud, you can hear the monster mimicking your own voice, telling everyone you're okay. You don't know how to stop it, or at least how to use your own voice to say you're not okay, and you need help.

For me, depression is that black cloud. Usually triggered by something - any myriad of things. I know I spend my life standing on the brink, waiting for it again. It grabs me out of nowhere, enveloping me and suffocating me. Or it grabs my legs and pulls me down, further and further underground. I hear my own voice saying I'm okay. So often that's not true, but I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to get out of its grip, and get away.

So I run. I put my running shoes on, and sometimes a hat, and sometimes gloves, and sometimes when it's so cold that my eyelashes freeze together and sometimes when it's so hot that I've been on the verge of heatstroke. I run. I run because I often feel that it's the only thing that keeps that black cloud at bay, but sometimes it's like I just can't run fast enough or far enough. It's always nipping at my heels, waiting for me to stumble so it can grab me and feed on me once more.

I've gotten better at recognizing the signs when it's coming. I can sense it before it grabs me full force. Sometimes I can stop it, but when I can't, I know what I need to do. I run.

The Simple Things

I spent tonight lying on a friends couch watching t.v.

She fed me chocolate, didn't ask me why I was there, and we barely spoke to each other for four hours.

It was like giving in to the blanket, but with another heartbeat in the room. And it was exactly what I needed.

Thank you, DT. ♥

Double Digits

Something hit me a while back - I am now officially in the double digits.

C'mon ladies - you know what this means. I don't know that I had ever really thought about this in my life, and what it would mean, if anything at all. There was a time when I thought I would end at 7, but we all know how that turned out.

Then there was a nice lull of a year or so, and them BAM - 8, 9 and 10 within 5 weeks of each other.

Ho. Bag.

Okay, I think they are all explainable, and I don't regret it, but the fact remains that I am now in the double digits.

I wondered how I would stack rank against my peers, so I sent out the query to a few close friends to see the numbers that came back, and the results were interesting. Everything from one to almost twenty.

Almost all of them said that they never thought they'd get higher than 10. More than one mentioned that when the number hit the double digits, they felt kind of slutty, but eventually got over it, realized that that's life, and have been enjoying themselves ever since.

I didn't query any guys on this, but I am fairly certain that if I did, the results would be quite different. For one thing, I don't trust guys to be honest with the numbers, and I think they would be heavily inflated. I also think that their attitude towards the overall number would be different. Guys wouldn't feel bad for hitting double digits, they are likely to feel bad for not.

It is an obvious, much-talked about, still-lingering stereotype, and it sucks. I hate that there is a voice somewhere in the world that tells me that I should feel bad, or that I could be perceived as promiscuous, while guys will pat each other on the back with each notch in their belts.

So ladies, I say this - we take back the power of the numbers into our own hands. Whatever your number is, own it, appreciate each experience, learn and grow. Don't look back with regret. We frickin' rock. Don't forget it.

Revelations Part II

They keep coming. And what is most interesting is not that they are coming, but I find that now that I am making a concerted effort to think before I open my trap, those precious moments make me realize how difficult it can be to articulate what I really want to say. With that, these revelations tend to come more slowly, and when they are full formed, are more well defined. But for my faithful three, here are some new ones:

1) I don't want to have kids just to have kids. I never have. I have never said, "I want to be a mom and have kids and that's that." I didn't even think I wanted to have kids until I met someone I wanted to have kids with, and that was in my 20's. It was only after that that I realized that for me it wasn't about the kids first, it was about finding the right person to have a baby with. It's a big difference.

2) My self worth is not tied to what I do and how I do it. Meaning, it's not tied to how well I do in school, or how well I do my job, or what job I have. This seems so simple now, but I cried yesterday when I finally realized this. And I realized that no one will ever make me feel again like what I do dictates who I am and what I am worth. Now that that's over, I realize how much it sucked.

Running (Not Away)

When I was in University, I started running in the summers to stay in shape. I never ran very far, or very fast, but I ran. And I loved it. I still do.

I stopped running during the mess I made of my life earlier this decade, but earlier this year, I started running again. I had a goal to complete a half marathon a month before it was all over, and I did it. I did it alone, with no one to cheer me on, except my own two feet and a necklace around my neck that I had wanted for years, instead of a ring around my finger I never really wanted in the first place.

A little while back, I read a short piece written by a woman who started running after being diagnosed with breast cancer. Though our paths were different, the sentiment is the same. This is a small part of what she wrote:

And then I ran. Exactly as planned.

I was running for my life, in a sense, though I knew that competition was really unfolding inside my body, far beyond my control. I was running in affirmation, in defiance. I was running to prove that I could, to show that I was not defined by the clusters of renegade cells that were growing within me.

To deal with something in my life that has not, in any conceivable way, gone exactly as planned.

I'm glad to know I'm not the only one.

Pearl

I spent this past weekend celebrating the 90th birthday of Lou Levine. Lou is loved and adored by all who meet him, and after meeting him for the first time this weekend, I can understand why. He's a kind, generous, lovely man, who even at the age of 90, continues to spend his winters downhill skiing. A true inspiration.

But the person who really made think this weekend was Pearl. Pearl is a dear, old friend of Lou and his wife Tessie. I met Pearl this weekend, and found out that she has been friends with the Levines for over 70 years. Pearl made me think about friendship, and about one friend in particulary, my DT, Paprika.

Oh, Paprika. She makes me want to scream like only a sister can. But I love her. I yell at her like I yell at my mom. Because I love her. I want her to love herself. Because she deserves it. And I know that, because I love her.

When I met Pearl this weekend, and watched her celebrating with Lou and his family, it made me think of Paprika. And that, 58 years from now, we will have been friends for 70 years. I look forward to celebrating that day with her.