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Monday, September 30, 2013

Dream | Walking the Razor's Edge

Last night I dreamt a lot.

They weren't good dreams, either.

I have been wanting to remember them so I could write them down so I have been trying to replay them while I slept.

In the first dream that I remember, I was in an environment in which it seemed something like college, but I was not college age. I think I was the age I am now. Maybe. Whatever I was, I felt like I was simultaneously in the same "place" as the others, and not.

At one point someone told me to be on the lookout as one of the girls was going to play an embarrassing trick on me and that it was going to involve "shit." I went to sit at a table with a number of the girls and the one who was going to do it came over with a big box to give me (kind of like the one flowers go in). The girl next to me told me that the girl who gave me the flowers had changed her mind, that the box was safe to open. I wasn't sure that I believed her. I wondered if that was somehow part of the "trick."

As I was sitting there, someone came over from my right, and pretty much threw the shit at me, and it landed beside me. I wanted to call the police. I also think I got up and made a big announcement to anyone who was there that that was it. I was close to being done (graduating?) but I had had enough, and I was leaving. They had won.

Then I was in some stores in New York City. It was like a mall, I think. I can't remember what was going on, but at some point I was also driving my car. It seemed really dark, and at one point I think I turned left in a lane that may not have been a lane. Then at another point, I was in some apartment-like buildings, and I was going to find my car, and my car keys. I think I might have been retracing my steps.

At one point I saw them on the ground near something orange. A girl was picking them up. She said something about how the orange thing had to do with needles, and that something should probably be done in regard to cleaning the keys, or making sure they were safe. I didn't care. I just wanted my keys, and I wanted my car.

I wound up in a place with another woman who told me that I needed to contact the police, that they had my car and it had been in an accident, and they needed to talk to me. Arrest me, really. I think. She gave me a slip on paper with a cop's name on it and phone number and told me to call him. She also told me that they knew it wasn't me, but they were tired of those who got away with things, so they were going to get me because they could. It was a set-up.  I was flabbergasted. I hadn't done anything. All I had been doing was sleeping.

I went somewhere to sit down and call him, and put the ear piece in. He and I spoke briefly and he was claiming that I had taken a drug (a legal one, but one I shouldn't have been driving with) and that I had caused a problem as a result. That's about as far as we got, when the girl who gave me his number in the first place (and who I thought was helping me, and on my side) came over and cut the headset cord and disconnected us, and tore up the paper with his name and number into little pieces and tried to take it away.

There were a number of people around, so I thought there had to be witnesses to what was happening to me, but there seemed to be no one. There was a guy sitting next to me at first, and I thought if I called the cops, he would validate the craziness that happened, but then I realized it was someone different sitting there, and he claimed to know nothing of what happened, even though I think he knew everything. I felt like I was being set-up again, and like the original conversation was a set-up for something even more.

The next thing I know, the guy sitting next to me shows me something in his hand, and it is something that apparently recorded everything that happened, and will show me in a bad light, and he is going to file it that night. I go to reach for it, knowing it is probably not a good idea, and there are photographers taking a picture. I knew they would somehow make it seem that I was trying to cover up what I did, when I hadn't done anything! They all seemed to do things to set me up to do things that they could manipulate and make things worse for me. I seemed to be acting in a "predictable" way. It seemed that the whole thing was a set-up for an investigative show. I couldn't tell if it was for "real" or if it was one of those shows that make it seem like it is.

**

In these dreams my decisions only seemed to make things worse. They also were all reactive to what was going on with me. It didn't seem like I could trust anyone.

I don't think I would say I feel people are out to get me or that I can't trust anyone so it's either something subconscious, or it is perhaps representative of something else. I definitely felt out of control in these dreams, and like I couldn't seem to get to where I wanted to get to. "Shit" was getting in the way.

I cried some before I went to sleep last night. I am not sure what is going on with me. I am emotionally wrecked. Yesterday I was at the conference in the morning for a bit, and at one point I started to cry, and I couldn't stop it. I thought about leaving, as I didn't want to draw attention to myself. But I thought that would be the easy way out, too. I wanted to see if I could stay for a bit, so I went to the ladies room.

Someone asked me if I was OK, and it only made me cry more. At one point I felt my legs might go from out from underneath me. I couldn't stop the crying, and I didn't know where to go. I landed by the wall, trying to curl up and just sobbed. The person wanted to help, but how could I explain what I was feeling? I didn't even know. Besides it was a long story. Besides she was there for the event. I didn't want to take her away from it. But she not only stayed, she encouraged me to cry, and let whatever needed to be let go, go.

As I write this, I am in tears again. I haven't cried much in the last few months, even though there was a time I cried almost every day. The woman asked me at one point if I thought I was depressed. I told her I sometimes ask myself that question. I am struggling to just survive these days, and I don't just mean financially. I sometimes wonder if I am giving up my "right" to be here. I am not doing all that I can to take care of myself, and when I think about it, it sometimes is "what's the point?"

I am also exhausted. It takes a lot of time and focus and energy to do things - even the most simplest of things - and I just don't want to do a damn thing. A part of me has had it with the shit, and just wants to walk away. If I am not welcome here, then I don't want to be here.

Having said that, I know I am welcome here. People tell me how valuable they think I am and how important what I have to say and do is. A part of me believes it. But another part says if that really is true, why aren't you making money? Why are you struggling? Why can't you seem to share the you and the message that so many, including yourself, thinks is of value? And then I think that I am doing that. That this blog is one way. The radio show is another way.

But there is no money attached. Can it be valuable if no money is attached? Can *I* be valuable if no money is attached? Of course, I know the answer is yes. But somewhere inside of me that question lives and breathes. I am trying to figure out what it is. If I had money, would I still feel this way? I suspect the answer would be yes. I think I would still want to find ways to feel valuable.

One of the best jobs I ever had was my last full time job, over 12 years ago. The paycheck was the plus. I loved that job, at least while the woman that hired me was still there. About 2 months after she hired me she gave notice to her job, and spent 6 months transitioning out. I loved working with her. I loved how I got to do things however I wanted to a great degree. She would say that I was her eyes and ears, and gave me great latitude. I got to be away from my desk a lot, and it couldn't have been a better job for me.

Her replacement had other ideas, though.

He saw my job as someone who should sit at her desk all of the time. He had no idea what my job was under my previous boss. Despite the fact that I spent a lot of time coordinating his welcoming/her exiting party, he was astounded by what I had done. I told him what I had been doing, but I guess somehow it had not registered. He was used to someone who would get him coffee and lunch. My job didn't last long after the transition was complete. I was trying to find other ways to contribute, but in the end, the job came to an end.

It was the beginning of the road I have been on the last several years. There are times I miss an office environment, especially like the one I had at that job. I miss the interaction with people. I miss the after hours get togethers. At the same time, it is incredibly rewarding working as a hypnotist and coach. Those one on one moments can be incredibly powerful and special. Since I haven't been working, I haven't even had those.

I suspect my soul is feeling deprived. The interaction we have with others is what shows us who we are. It is what gives us opportunities to express ourselves. I have often said I miss the me I am when I am in a relationship with someone. There is an opportunity in that context for me to be someone that I don't get to be in other contexts, and I miss her a lot. There are days I wonder if I will ever see her again. I hope to. But there are times I do have my doubts. A person dealing with cancer is wearing a sign that reminds people that the end is near. It could be just as near for someone not wearing the sign, but - they're not wearing the sign. It is easier to be in ignorance of that fact when it isn't so blatant. And then there are other issues and concerns, too. But I will not give up on the idea of being with someone unless I give up on everything else, too.

There are other mes I miss as well. All of which I hope will have a return. There are some days the only me I know is the one who can't get out of bed.

Today I was reintroduced to the me that did not want to eat. For me, that usually is indicative of something, as food often is a comfort for me, and I wind up eating more in times of stress. When I don't want to eat, that is not the best sign. But I did eat something, any way. It is odd to feel that way, though. It is quite unusual for me.

In a few hours (at 4:00 PM Eastern) I have my radio show WorldofPerspectiveRadio. I am wondering what to do on the show. Last week was a re-run of several of the speakers who were at the conference these last couple of days because I was just too tired to do a live show, and thought it would be a good idea, given that the event was coming up.

To push through or to go back to bed. There are other choices I would rather have instead.
Those moments of choice are so razor's edge fine. To give up, give in, or to walk the line.


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