I've never allowed myself to dream, whether it seemed something attainable or not. What I do know now that I've had this extraordinarily vivid "dream" is how deprived I've been of hope. Strange to wake up in mid-life (as if I'm living to 100, right?) and find how much I've avoided wanting.
It's simple, really. You want, then you hope, then you perhaps achieve - or you are disappointed. But simple itself has always either alluded me or appeared very frightening. Pose the existential and I'll ponder and wax on for hours, days. Ask me to wash a dish or balance my bank accounts and I'm out the door.
I remember being in the hospital when I was 20 and they asked me who I wanted to be when I grew up. I said no one, that I never wanted to be here. They asked me what I wished to be, what I wanted to be if I could be anything. I said I never thought about it. They said that's impossible. I said not if you're not committed to being here in the first place.
This was a response to an ongoing thread for me. I would ask my mother when I was very small, "I don't understand - why do I have to be here?" and she would look at me, puzzled and somewhat irritated (this came up often) and say, "Where? In the kitchen?"
She didn't get it. Until much later, when I wound up in the hospital.
Alcohol and drugs filled all the necessary slots in for me for a long time after that - the wanting slot, the hoping slot and the achieving slot. They pretty much took up all my time and energy. The problem with them was that in the achieving of what I wanted, I never got what I hoped for and was alway and ever disappointed. Over and over, day in and day out. But I chased them down indeed, as far as to the very gates of hell.
I did "things" during all this slot-filled time, climbed corporate ladders, fell off them, dated, lived with someone, etc., but these were not the main attraction. My chemical busy signal came first and foremost and I was not to be distracted. If I had to be here, let me be as far out of here as I possibly can be.
Then comes rehab, then comes recovery and recovery and recovery...a day at a time forever. But for many years I stayed busy with other things, some addictions, some just other distractions. Compulsive spending, obsessive relationships, overeating, undereating, rah, rah, rah. My closest friend used to say, "Nancy, stop distracting yourself from yourself." But still, I could not want and I could not dream. I was still frightened. Of what? Of achieving? Of disappointment?
Of committing to being here.
So when this dream came to me yesterday - and not only came to me, but actually appealed to me - I was quite smitten by its arrival. Finally, I have an answer to what I dream about. And while there may be more and different dreams, this is my first one, my virgin voyage into the exposition of what the real heart of my matter is. Both to others - but mostly to myself.
Simple? Yes. Frightening? Not at all.
Posts
