The Last Time

Dream Journal 09-06-16

Last night, my dream was so incredibly vivid that it was only when I tried to relive it as a sweet and joyous memory that I realised its impossibility. I have mentioned before that I have affections for a certain someone. I find emotional attachment a very strange thing and , in all honesty, it creeps me out. I have absolutely no concrete idea on how it works. It’s just that I get even mushier around this person. I don’t even know what I want from them beyond acknowledgement and the occasional conversation. Even my affection is a presumption based on my actions around this person. I don’t know how else to tell whether one has an emotional bond with someone or not. Alas, let me not bog you down with the dreams of a hopeless romantic. This is a dream journal after all and I shall get forth to my dream now.

The Last Time

The day was not going well for me. There was a major social event happening at a family friend’s house later on and I could already feel my nerves making my hands jittery. I didn’t like being forced to be social. If it was my choice, I could handle it. Otherwise, I’d spaz out and make a fool of myself. I walked down the old wooden stairs from my room, leaving my safe-house far behind and well out of reach. I stepped outside onto the veranda and breathed in the cold, cool air. No turning back now. I could do this. I can’t get away from this. I have to be able to do this. I will do this. With some microscopic sense of resolve I strode on towards a group of people I thought I knew. I felt anxious. I felt scared. That was fine. I could hide that just like I have been doing my whole life. I can do that. What I couldn’t do, was make sense of what I said when I introduced myself to that group of people. I entered the circle and their faces twisted into vile aberrations. Creatures from the darkest places of the underworld who should never be able to visit the material plain. Uttering a gurgle of high-pitched squeals and guttural vowels in shock, I hastily picked up my drink and jumped away. Was that real? Was that my mind playing tricks on me? Okay, so maybe I couldn’t hide my fear. Maybe I had to just show that I was afraid of conversation and direct confrontation and it would all be okay.

It must have been about nine thirty. The moon was only just shifting from low to high. It was in that awkward middle ground when one cannot accurately describe its location. Like myself, the moon stood alone during this dark light, amongst hordes of others who beamed and spread their light without shame. The moon only shines because the sun reflects off of it, I could relate to that. Especially here, I could only speak to people fluently if they made the effort to make me feel comfortable. It wasn’t hard. It happened the other day at the grocer when I bumped into an old school associate. All it takes is for you to convince me that you are genuinely interested.

With a sense of siblingship now found in the moon and our mutual, unavoidable isolation, I had something that I could relate to and, I thought, a great way for me to enter a conversation so I did not end up hating myself for being such a loner. I enacted my plan with utter precision. I approached a group of people who did not look like flesh-eaters eager to gorge on your soft skin, demonised Homo sapiens that wanted to rip you to limb from limb, or aberrations from the depths of the Underdark. They looked more like regular people. Their conversation was stuttered and I knew one of them from my university. Positioning myself near enough to the group for them to hear me, but not so near as to make my intentions obvious, I let out a question to the floor asking if they could see how beautiful the moon was today. I fear many things, and making a fool of myself is not one of them. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel gutted after someone made the comment that it was a new moon tonight. Turns out, what I thought was the moon was just a pale cat sitting on top of a lamppost.

It was at that point that I gave up. I couldn’t take the constant rejection anymore. There were only so many times that I could stand up to my fears on one day and I had already far exceeded that.

From what I’ve gathered, when normal people give up, they go into this sort of slump-like-state where they are too stubborn to do anything that pleases them. It’s not hard for them to find hope again as they tend to be alright by the next day. It’s different for me. I am stubborn when I am fine. When I give up, I let my guard down and the anxiety snatches the opportunity to overwhelm me. I say snatches but that is not the right word. It is not as quick as that. It’s a slow and agonising build-up to the inevitable breakdown that I was about to have in front of these devils that call themselves people. The least I could do was have the attack in a quiet corner in the dark so that I wouldn’t disturb anyone.

This patch of darkness was the first thing that I noticed when I entered this area. It was the only place I could escape to. I swore I wouldn’t use it tonight. I guess I no longer cared about that either. I stumbled into that corner while watching the increasing jitter of my right hand. The first thing to go was always my motor cortex. That’s why I loved to run. I could hear a slow creak of metal. Like a chain swaying back and forth in the gallows. In this patch of isolated darkness, I was not alone. I could feel the eyes of another human staring me down. Their gaze pierced my skin and I could feel something cold stir inside my heart. Oddly, I was not afraid. I was either too concerned about the anxiety attack that loomed over me, or I just did not care. You’ll find out later that it was option three.

The creaking noise turned out to be a swing in the garden of this house. Not the gallows. Although, it may have well been because the build-up felt a lot more painful this time round. I didn’t know if I would even get out of it alive. The person, whose gaze had now left me, was munching on their food. Everything about the person felt familiar and hit me with a sense of comfort, yet it didn’t do enough to quell the rage inside of me. So I gave her no more attention than that.

“Oh, I thought I was the one meant to be ignoring you now?” Her soft voice shattered my soul into billions of tiny fragments when I realised who it was. My mind was already gone, its thoughts were that of distraught rage. “Had she not realised the state I was in?!” “Could she not see how close to breaking point I was!?” Now they turned to thoughts of despair. “Was I so stupid as to think that she actually cared at all about my health?” “Would she not help me at all?”

I didn’t realise it at the time, but she had helped me. She had stopped the anxiety from building up any further my attacking me with the one thing I could not stop caring about. Her, well my dogs and her, but this time it was her. I didn’t think that my emotions were this strong. I didn’t even know her that well. Heck, I knew her (sister’s) cat better than I knew her. Like the first time I tried to speak that night, all that came out were a mess of guttural vowel sounds that not even I could fathom. Again, she directed her words at me, “I haven’t been ignoring you. You know my situation is less than ideal. And then there was all that schoolwork.” Rolling her eyes in that way made me forget how madly my hand was shaking for the few short seconds that it lasted. “I know.” Was all that I could reply. But still, it was words! I had managed to utter some words and not be ridiculed by it!

I sounded like a 12-year-old boy who stubbornly demanded ice cream. And I guess I still was, so it wasn’t inappropriate. I know that there were three clear lines of dialogue spoken between us and if I had written them down as soon as I got up, I would have them here for you today. Sadly, I did not do that either. What I can tell you is that after this dream, I felt genuinely less prone. How long it will last for, that is another question. But while it lasts, I shall make the most of it.

It is times like this when voicing my thoughts into the blogosphere, even when I have severe doubts that anyone is listening, can make me feel genuinely better about myself. And for that, I thank you, all of you. Because without you being there, without your eyes to potential hear my words, I would not be in as stable of a place as I am today.



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