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Wake up alone

It’s okay in the day I’m staying busy
Tied up enough so I don’t have to wonder where is he
Got so sick of crying
Run around just so I don’t have to think about thinking
That silent sense of content
That everyone gets
Just disappears soon as the sun sets

This face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone

If I was my heart
I’d rather be restless
The second I stop the sleep catches up and I’m breathless
This ache in my chest
As my day is done now
The dark covers me and I cannot run now
My blood running cold
I stand before him
It’s all I can do to assure him
When he comes to me
I drip for him tonight
Drowning in me we bathe under blue light

His face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone

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Lucid Dreaming

I have vivid dreams. I also have a lot of nightmares. So I have vivid nightmares. This is not something I enjoy.

The other morning I awoke from one of these vivid nightmares after what seemed like 30 minutes of trying to escape from this dream. I’m also a lucid dreamer. I have vivid, lucid nightmares.

When I woke up I thought to myself, “Well today’s going to be a wash,” since it usually takes me the entire day to recover from the vivid, lucid nightmares, especially when they are about him.

This particular dream was one of the staples. I’m in Utah on a visit. I run into him and his wife. He later shows up at my aunt’s house where I am staying and we go for a drive. I apologize for the Nth time for breaking up with him that final time and say that I love him. He says that he still feels the same and that he is going to leave his wife and kid if I’ll have him. Up to this point the dream is emotional and dramatic but not traumatic. That comes next.

Once again, as if it’s the few weeks before his wedding and he is calling me asking me to give him a reason to call it off, I am stuck. The same anxiety and panic fill my body. I am once again overwhelmed by immobilizing fear. I don’t trust him. I can’t commit to him. I love him. I wont love anyone else the way I love him. I don’t want him to forget me. I don’t want him to be with someone else. I don’t want to make room for him in my life here. I don’t want him.

He waits for me to make a choice. I tell him that I don’t think I can give him what he wants. I cry as he gets out of the car. I cry as I drive to my aunt’s house. I cry as I wake myself up.

I never use my lucid dreaming ability to fly, like most people would. It seems that each time I dream this dream I use my lucid dreaming ability to make the same painful choice over and over, a punishment for my previous sins. I’m aware enough to know the reality of the suspended dream state. And the reality is that I don’t want to end up with him. The reality is that time and time again he wasn’t enough for me. The reality is that I’m done breaking things for this boy. Which is a good thing, right?

Then why do I feel so shitty?

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While I Was Sleeping

I think my subconscious hates me.

Every time I wake up from a restless sleep it is because I have been dreaming about him. Specifically about him and his wife. The dreams vary in setting and action sequence but the underlying context is always the same: his wife shows off how happy they are and reminds me that he didn’t want me.

The most vivid of these dreams was one where I ran into his wife on the 3rd street Promenade in Santa Monica. She smiled at me, baring teeth, took my hand and led me down a series of corridors to their newlywed house. He was there editing a clip from a new documentary on Kevin Bacon, which he paused to come meet us on the couch. His wife exited the living room, momentarily leaving him and I alone, long enough that my memory could paint an exquisite picture of his features that I loved so much. We sit there staring at each other, me silently mourning lost opportunity, him plastic and emotionless, a life-sized Ken doll perched on the corner of the ottoman. The wife returns, arms full of scrapbooks detailing their happy life together. She seats herself between him and me. She holds me hostage to my own misery while she flips through the books, every picture a memory he chose to do with her instead of me, every kiss a faint memory of what I once had but will never experience again. I sit there, frozen, immobile. I have to see this, I have to feel this, my unconscious tells me; remember this pain that you are ignoring? I am still here. I have not been dealt with. I haunt every relationship you have had and will have since. Help me!

When I rescue myself from this distress my pillow is damp, a combination of sweat and tears. I get up and find some water in an effort to replenish myself because I feel so hollow and spent after these dreams. It doesn’t matter how long it has been. I wont let myself forget you. I kneel down and earnestly plea with God that you will find your way back to me. I feel His disappointment. I plea further, offering specific suggestions for how He can make it happen. I don’t think God listens to those prayers. I get up off my knees, drive to McDonalds and quench my grief with deep fried carbohydrates. Eventually the shock wears off and I can go about the rest of my day not burdened by the aching I feel where my heart used to be.

In any case, I forget how sad I am until I fall asleep. There my unconscious mind can explore the depths of the depression that is repressed in the daytime. Yes, I guess I did love him. Yes, I was the only one to blame. No, despite my best efforts to get another chance, I did not get what I wanted. I don’t know if it is my soul trying to fix itself by reminding me to repair the rupture, or if I am truly a secret masochist feeding off of the endless pain I create for myself.

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