Yesterday was one of the rare days where I felt right. Looking back, it was partly because I managed to stay busy the entire day– busy helping with a race and busy helping paint. During the brief two hours where I had time to myself, I took a nice walk, read, and then found myself too exhausted to think, so I took a quick nap on a park table.
It was a legitimate good day– a day where I didn’t feel like it was a burden to be around people and didn’t keeping thinking ‘“I can’t wait for this day to be over.” I thought this day was a sign that things were getting better…that I was going to be able to make it after all.
Then I went to sleep and woke up crying, multiple times, due to the intense nightmares/dreams that I had.
There was one where I pleaded with my former director to let me back in, telling him that “I’ve got my stuff together now” and assuring him that “I won’t fail again.“ He didn’t let me back in, but instead reiterated that “if you really wanted to be here, you would be.” Then he detailed everything I did wrong, and I knew he was right.
There was one where my adoptive parents found out that I’m searching for my birth parents, and that my birth mother has rejected me again. It killed my adoptive dad, literally he had a heart attack due to the pain, and gave my adoptive mother joy because she could finally say “I told you so. And because of this, we don’t want you either. Now you have no one.” And again, like with my former director, I knew she was right.
There was one where I was about to meet my birth mother in an unmarked KCIA van. When I saw her, I stepped out of the van. She took one look at me and started running the other way. I ran after her yelling “wait, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me” over and over again. She finally stopped, turned around, and coldly said “stop chasing me. Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t care about you?! You mean nothing to me. You’re dead to me.” Again, I knew she was right. I became immobilized and watched her walk away, except it was as if she was walking in place right in front of me, close enough to touch, yet slowly disappearing with each step. And with each step, the voice inside of me kept pleading “please don’t do this, please don’t do this.” It was similar to the scene in Big Daddy, where the little boy is being taken away by a social worker, wondering what he did wrong, and making his final plea of “I can wipe my own butt!”
The last dream was one where I was being taken away in the middle of the night, so as not to disturb anyone. I was told that people had requested I leave and that they thought it would be for the best. I didn’t get to say ask what I did wrong, or say goodbye. As we were making our way down the street, I looked out the back window and saw the house illuminated, with balloons falling around the house like rain. Realizing the happiness that my removal released, I knew it really was for the best and that there was no reason to fight it.
Representing a mixture of reality and my worst fears, these dreams will forever haunt me.