backyard crowing
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is anyone else having violent dreams atm?
Well, I spent the weekend sad, but doing a great thing! My best friend Abbie got dumped on Friday, the Friday before her birthday...so I spent Friday through Sunday in her room, doing my darndest to convince her that she's in NO WAY a failure because their relationship didn't work out, etc., etc.
She's fun, interesting, intelligent, beautiful and has so much to offer, it's difficult to see why she's so afraid she won't get married and have kids someday, which is her dream. I have to wonder whether it's her dream, or that of her parents...they seem to have an ungodly hold on her life, and it makes me sick. I am about as independent as they come. The will in me to travel new places and be on my own is simply FIERCE. I have a hard time understanding where she's coming from.
Brownsville? Honestly? For the rest of your life, my dear, sweet, best friend?
I should be a better person, I should accept what she wants. We all want different things.
Apart from that, I've had three disturbing dreams in the last week.
The first dream:
I was a young boy, an orphan, and I lived in an orphanage. We all slept on bunkbeds. One day, some sort of monster came by and killed one of our peers by chopping his head off. To defend ourselves, from then on we could not lift up our heads. We thought if our heads weren't up in the air, the monster wouldn't see them, and wouldn't want to chop them off. We weren't allowed to ever go OUTSIDE, we were just always in bed, with our heads down as if there were a perpetual bomb drill.
The orphanage leader kept telling us he would move us to a different orphanage, a safer one--only he wasn't making quick progress at all, so we wondered if he was in fact a supporter of the monster. Finally he DID move us into a different place, but we were all still terrified, because of his lateness.
Then a second of my peers died--same elusive monster, same method of death--his head was chopped off. Then when the orphanage leader had his head turned, I fled the place and ran two streets down to a house of ill repute, where I suddenly looked down and realized I was now a girl. I decided then to sell my body to try and get as far away from the orphanage as possible. I knew no other way to make ends meet, or to get out of the situation pronto. I guess hitchhiking never occurred to me. I had no money...
The second dream:
I'm suffocating because there is a plastic bag taped down around my neck--I don't know if it was I or someone else who applied it. This dream was horrific...it seemed too real. As always, I woke up right before I died. I didn't get to see God in my dream.
I wonder why I dreamed this. I think about suicide fairly often--usually every time I think about all the things I must do. It's papers and busy work and a diploma...or a plastic bag or a knife or a gun.
I'm disturbed. I disturb even myself.
I found myself thinking about Brian, a boy who was my age and killed himself (I don't know how, they always say that's not important), one Christmas Eve. I prayed for his family and friends today. I like to think that prayers like this, on random days rather than just immediately after a death, make an extra difference. It's the days that happen months after a tragedy in which people lose it. They relapse because they remember how awful everything was, and this time they're not surrounded by friends, family, and prayers. They're at work on a Tuesday afternoon when something triggers. It hits them again: my son killed himself. My son killed himself. My son. Killed. Him. Self.
Killed himself.
And then they wonder whether life's worth living anymore. And they need a prayer...and if they can't bring themselves to pray, they don't have one.
I don't know why I feel I am part of them, I've never endured the suicide of someone close to me. There was my parents' divorce, but many would say that sort of thing doesn't compare. And they would be right. But then, tragedy is tragedy, and we all have our "bad days" in the midst of mourning, don't we?
The third dream:
I went into an old man's house and killed him very violently--I think it was a knife. Then I went back to my workplace (a Wal-Martish sort of store) a few days later to steal some supplies (dumb idea, I know).
Anyway, I walked through the "Employees Only" area and stole a duffel bag right in front of a dude working just a few feet away. The dude was known for letting people take whatever they wanted, so he just sat there and didn't care. But later they went on camera and found all the people that stole duffel bags, and wrote their names down.
Then we all had to get in line and each sign a paper of some sort and give the bag back...only for some reason I didn't want to, so once I got to the front of the line and was about to sign the paper, I think I did something crazy or violent or SOMETHING to the people at the table.
Serves them right? Perhaps. Abbie said I killed the old man because I was mad at Charlie. I think it has something to do with the fact that I was watching "THE SEED OF CHUCKY" right before I fell asleep.
A girl can dream.
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I also rejoined the dating site (UGH), but I don't plan on meeting anyone through it for awhile. For one, I don't have time for it, and for two, that's what started Abbie's trauma in the first place. Mine too, if you think about it. If the site didn't exist, I wouldn't have endured/learned from:
-Adam the Artist
-Victor the Vanisher
-Patch the Clingster
-Glen, the Quiet Social Angster
-"Kool" Keith
-Andrew the Denverite
-The Chameleon
Le siiiiigh. WHYYY am I getting back into this?!
And Julie, can I have your password? If not, it's cool, I understand!
"I have no need for anger with intimate strangers, and I got nothing to hide."
-Indigo Girls
4:20 am - Monday, Apr. 14, 2008
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