As Fiona Apple sings: “I don’t go to sleep to dream.”
I don’t dream. Or if I do, I certainly don’t know it. Nights that I’m conscious of my dream(s) I don’t sleep well, and the dreams are never something nice/happy.
I’m a natural skeptic. I want to believe in something but I have a hard time believing in anything. But dreams… I tend to look into the meaning of my dreams. The dreams usually occur when I’m in serious need of some soul searching or some introspective “me” time.
With the things going on in life right now, it’s a good possibility my subconscious is trying to tell me something. There’s been a whirlwind of information thrown my way these last few weeks that has been difficult to process. It’s brought up a lot of buried emotions. A lot of anger. A lot of pain. A lot of bitterness. Things I thought were behind me.
And maybe it is… Someone told me once that you move on and learn to cope but it still hurts. It’s something that sticks with you. It’s part of who you are and what makes up you as a person. I’m who I am today because of my past. My strengths and insecurities. I have habits, behaviors, and attitudes that are rooted in that anger and pain – both good and bad.
I found old writings from that period of my life. They’re a big clue into what made me… Me. They’re also incredibly sad and slightly disturbing. I needed therapy, I received religious rhetoric instead. I didn’t need scriptures or speeches about how a god I didn’t believe in would fix me. And I certainly didn’t need to be told that I’m “beautiful on the outside, ugly on the inside.” I needed counseling. I needed someone to vent to who wouldn’t tell me all the reasons/ways I was wrong simply because those beliefs were contrary to what they believed.
It’s no wonder I so instinctively put up walls to protect myself, or that I am so reluctant to be myself around people.