It’s Never What We Think It Is

I’ve not posted for a long time – and for anyone who actually reads this, I apologize.  Part of it has been my hesitation to walk down those paths of the bad memories.  It has been almost two years since I woke up to The Email. I’ve come a long way.  I healed as much as I could there.  Moving has helped me heal more.  Oh, don’t get me wrong – I’m still very sore and tender.

I may change the blog’s official name.  I don’t know.  I wanted a funny collection because I love to laugh.  If you can’t laugh at yourself and/or your situation, you miss a lot of joy.  My life has been a comedy of errors for the past 7 years, it’s no wonder I’m on drugs these days (legal, thank you). But I also don’t want to live in the past.  Maybe I’ll just let this blog grow into whatever I’m pondering at the moment.

608 days have passed since The Email – but who’s counting (52,531,200 seconds if you were curious) And I’m still not divorced.  The trial was only 170 days ago.

My cousin & I were talking.  Part of the discussion and my healing is “what to do with the good times we had?”  She said “Mojo, it wasn’t ALL bad.  It was right for that season in your life – and now it’s not.  That season is over and you can still cherish the good memories”

The reason for this morning’s much–to-early post is that I’m trying once again to break a cycle of nightmares I’ve had all night.  And, I want to express my odd surprise at the emotional impact.  I have had a running nightmare all night.  I first woke up about an hour and a half after I went to sleep.  I stayed up for a bit trying to get the images & memories out of my head.  These were very angry, violent nightmares (I keep wondering what in my dinner set them off). I know when I went to sleep my thoughts were so busy and bouncy I could not make much sense of them and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to sleep because of them.  I woke up twice more throughout the night.  I mean it has been one constant, morphing weird nightmare.

A lot of it seems to be based around me being powerless (hmmmm, that thought came to me as I was typing it, interesting thought, let’s explore that a bit). I was powerless over other people, their decisions, & how it impacted me.  Gosh, that sounds like every day life – for why to generate nightmares about it?  I guess my brain needed to sort through my current situation:

I’m homeless

I’m unemployed

I’m broke

Oh, don’t worry.  I have a place to lay my head and a few dollars coming for doing my chores – so I am OK – but that’s the gist of it.  I feel powerless, but I’m really not.  I can move, go get a job, do whatever I want.  The world is my oyster.  But it goes against everything I was taught growing up.  Am I being irresponsible or taking care of Me?

I could tell some funny stories from where I’m living right now.  But, I digress.

What finally made me pick up the pen again with this blog was my utmost surprise of the elicited emotion from the dreams. Let’s just say in the dream I was having a very, very bad day.  I was like “Alexander and the Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” It was never ending, everywhere I turned.  You know how dreams are – they are hard to articulate when you wake but the emotion is just as real as if it had really happened.

Ok, so I’m having this nightmare.  Things are bad, nothing is going right, people are using me, taking my stuff, lying, having sex without me, everything is falling apart.  It’s just horrible and I’m angry and hurt and upset and astounded that people could actually treat others that way.  Part of the violence is me trying to fight back, however futile.  Well, at the end, I knew Daddy Boo-Boo was on a trip with his girlfriend.  There was a terrorist attack where he was.  He was killed.  I was devastated. My emotions were so mixed and confused I couldn’t make heads or tails of them.  All I could do was slide down the wall and curl into a ball and cry.  I mean, I don’t like the guy, but it truly does seem that I have moved beyond my homicidal ideas towards him.  Not really homicidal – more like “if something horrid and vile happened to him like his guts were ripped out of his throat and he was hung by his penis after his testicles were cut out with a hot spoon that would be OK with me.”  So in this dream, he was killed in a terrorist attack and my thoughts and feelings were a cornucopia of contrasts.  We were getting divorced.  I hated him.  I want to move on from him.  I wanted to heal from the unimaginable stab wound to my soul. I have imagined his accidental death a zillion different ways – so why was I devastated that he really was dead? of course I had to ask what impact this would have on the divorce (ok, unnecessary at this point)  Will I be allowed to move from the Twice-Divorced Divorcee camp into the Widowed camp?  That stirs much more sympathy.  What happens to our stuff? Do I get it all now? Do his kids get what he would’ve gotten in the divorce?  How does all that work with this new twist in the plot?  What was I supposed to do now?  Why wasn’t the news covering the story?  Was Daddy Boo-Boo really dead?!?  Why was I so sad? Why was my heart breaking? Why can’t I get any more news about it?  Why do have I more tears? Why am I crying over his death?

To make matters worse (?) his first ex and two kids show up.  Trust me, there is no love lost amongst any of them.  His ex has hated me from day 1.  I’m sure she’s gotten an ear full about me since all this happened, much to her delight.  His kids haven’t spoken to me since.  So there they are, sitting on the couch.  Here is where it gets weirder:  I give this this pick-me-up speech about how I wish them well, and never wanted them to be sad, and that through it all I loved him.  And, being a weird nightmare, they had with them in a blue plastic tote some of his body parts; a hand, an arm.  I wanted his wedding band.  In the dream it was still on.  So for some weird reason, I wanted his wedding band.  I took the bucket/tote over to a tree and sat down and cried over it.  The kind of crying I did when he dumped me.  Wailing and weeping (I don’t think I’ve ever wail-weeped before in my life – I’m not prone to histrionics). 

I guess cousin was right.  It is ok to keep the happy memories.  He was probably happy and real then, as much as is possible for him.  Nightmares or not, I think I turned yet another corner in this maze called life.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Angela
    Aug 08, 2013 @ 13:28:33

    As I read this entry, John Paul Jackson, came to mind. Who is he? An Author, Christian, who writes about dreams and how God has always used Dreams to talk to us. I have asked you to “like” him on your facebook page.
    But I also recomend his book regarding dreams. It has helped me realize how much God cares for us and wants to communicate with us. Hope you will see that too. If a dream/nightmare is in black and white (this is one of his hints) then it is not of God and should be ignored. Good reading. AND I am so sorry for all that you have been through. No one should have to live (not really living, just existing) in this kind of malestorm. I am glad God brought you back into our lives.

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