I woke up this morning when the phone rang, and so I was in the midst
of this intense dream, very complicated, and involving versions of all
sorts of people I really know, my family, Michael, my dog, and so on,
and this is unusual for me; I don't generally dream about people I
know. When I do, it's always intense, and in this case, very much so,
and the part where I woke up was so happy... everything was playful
and fun, and I had that sense that, even though there were problems
(that were part of the background of the dream), they were nothing to
really be concerned about, that everything would be ok. And we
laughed, and it was great.... and then I woke up.
I was so happy in that instant, and then I realized where I was and
what reality was, and the contrast was so abrupt and so harsh that I
came crashing back to reality, and if I'd had an off switch at that
moment, if someone had said, choose right now, it would have been
easy.
And, oh, that process of getting back to reality, of knowing that I
have to put things back together, that I must. And all the time, my
head is saying, if I can't feel like that, I don't want anything. And
certainly, least of all do I want to be here, waking up alone and
going through all the rituals that keep me together and keep me
trying. It's too much work, all the time, and I get so tired. It
would be one thing if that feeling was impossible. But I've had it
before and kept it for a while. I know that I can feel that way; I
just don't know how to get there. Not now, not alone, not in this
situation.
And so, mornings like this, I feel boxed in by the constraints and
increasingly desperate, and for once in my life, I can't tell which
part of the depression is situational and which is inherent. All I
can feel is that aching, desperate aloneness that nothing seems to
mend because it's more about the state of my head than things
external.
I'm so stupid, so unwilling to give up; by the end of writing this, I
am already thinking, maybe if I do this, maybe if I get dressed and
meditate and do my exercises and make a list and... Maybe these
things will make me feel better. All the rituals that reconstruct my
head and my heart, and make it possible to not give up, not today.
But sometimes I think it's like a salmon, swimming upstream
desperately, because you have to, but what's really at the end of the
struggle? Is there really that golden prize that I'm longing for, or
do you just get to the end of the stream, mate, and die? Who knows,
maybe that *is* happiness. I can't afford to think like this, and I
know it. I have to keep that hope, because there aren't any other
choices, not really.
It's nearly the end of October.
In a month, I'll be in New York City.
In six weeks, the semester will be over.
In two months, I'll be in England.
Of course, I write those things, and I'm hopeful for a moment, and
then I realize that in 3 months, I'll be making that list again.
Happiness is about now, not about things in the future to hang onto.
I need to get my head back into the present, not off in what will be
and what might be.
Nina
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