Foreshadowing.

Last night, I had a foreshadowing mindfuck dream.

In it, I confronted one of my biggest fears about one of my favourite people.

It was a mixture of painful truth and awful potential.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I think dreams are our way of safely exploring things that we cannot process while we are awake. And my theory has never been more prevalent than now.

I don’t struggle with difficult conversations but I struggle to figure out the emotion surrounding them. I can get how I feel out there but then I can’t handle what happens next.

My therapist has told me that sometimes when the fantasy becomes a reality a terrible realisation sets in. All of a sudden, you have what you want and, even if it’s exactly how you had imagined it would be, it’s a shock. 

I am in shock and last night I dealt with that in dream form and today I’m dealing with the idea that I might finally have the opportunity to be happy.

Happiness is scary.

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That sting.

This week I’ve felt that sting a lot. (Not that water infection kinda sting, thank goodness!) I’ve felt that sting of hurt when someone has said something that I find offensive.

A colleague told me that the only way I could have kids would be adoption (not true) and a friend undermined a situation which, for me, was very real and very serious but for her was little more than a passing phase.

And so I feel stung.

How does one deal with feeling stung?

A year ago I would have been bitter and angry but, as anger is a secondary emotion, I want to allow myself to feel hurt.

And boy do I hurt.

I’m not very good at being hurt. I hate being vulnerable and I associated being hurt with being vulnerable. I struggle to, rationally, admit that something has upset me.

Right now, I’d take a wasp sting over this emotional sting that is happening inside me. 

Places I’m drawn to. 

My nan moved to a flat and out of the “family bungalow” about 6 years ago yet, for some reason, when I thought about visiting my nan today I was thinking of going to said bungalow. 

Why?

I have loads of extremely happy memories from the bungalow; including hundreds of my grandad who died before my nan moved out. However, I also have unpleasant memories from it and I’m realistic to know that the building is just bricks.

Having said that, when I found out she was selling the bungalow I was fuming. I had spent a lot of my childhood there and it felt like a second home to me. I would go there after school when my mum was working late and I’d had learnt to ride a bike in the back garden.

But without my grandad it wasn’t the same.

Her new flat, whilst spacious and light, is missing a presence for me.

Similarly, I’m drawn to Derby where my paternal grandmother lives and where my dad spent a lot of time.

I was talking to a friend recently and I expressed a yearning to go to Derby, even though I don’t feel like going there fulfils me. 

“You’re looking for your dad.”, she said “But he’s not there.”

It’s true. He’s not there. Pictures of him are scattered everywhere and half of the person who created him is there but he isn’t.

I stopped myself from making a last minute hotel booking in Derby recently and the yearning to go has gone.

I feel like Derby is where I run away to when my actual life (the monotony of work and the stress of relationships) gets too much. 

So how do I find peace with all of this loss and no substance to fill the space? 

Lying to my therapist.

On Monday, I lied to my therapist. 

It was the first time I have intentionally lied to her in the hope that she wouldn’t think I’m a bad person. 

I realise this is flawed, and I shall list why now:

  • She is, as far as I know, pretty damn objective and I don’t think she’d judge me.
  • She doesn’t believe that people are “good” or “bad”; she understands the complexity of humans and knows that people are more than a three or four letter word.
  • Even if she did think I was “bad” she certainly wouldn’t tell me.

    Some people might say that it shows some disharmony between the two of us if I’m willing to lie to her but, instead, I’d suggest it shows disharmony within myself.

    I’ve just sent her a text telling her that I faced one of my fears this morning. I’ll face the rest of them next week.

    Different.

    “You’re different now.”, she said to me last night in a dream. She’s right. I’m on the brink of a breakdown and a self fulfilling prophecy. 

    She epitomises everything I look for in a woman and yet I know those things aren’t compatible with me.

    I’m all banter and good news face to face and I’m bitterness and sexual objectification online. 

    My therapist told me that I don’t like certain things about other people because I don’t like those things about myself.

    In which case, she’s a fucking flirt and I have no idea where I stand. Ergo, I’m a fucking flirt and she’s in the fucking dark about my feelings.

    Being blunt hasn’t helped so I doubt being sensitive will. Instead I’ll just send her a mixed signal message and get angry when she doesn’t bite.

    2017. A year of great change.

    Happy new year everyone! This isn’t my first post of 2017 and it’s rather late on the whole “new year” front but it’s here!

    2016 was interesting, I’d say it was the most life changing year so far (more on that in another blog post).

    Today is blue Monday and I feel strangely positive about it. Rather aptly, I have a session with my therapist later and I’m excited to tell her what’s happening in my life.

    I don’t fall into the trap of thinking that my life will be revolutionised in the new year; I am annoyingly realistic. I doubt I’ll lose 5 stone, meet the love of my life or take more photos but that doesn’t mean that change won’t happen. It’s happening now, I already feel much better than I did this time last year.

    I can’t even remember this time last year really – without even noticing it, I think the depression has descended. 

    That’s how I like to picture depression; like a black cloud. Towards the end of last year I learned how to move out from under the black cloud and how to make the black cloud less detrimental.

    16 days into January and I feel changes are afoot. 2017 will be good, it’ll be a year to remember.

    Dear DTB 

    Dear DTB,

    This is tough. This is like well done steak kinda tough. I mean I like my steak well done but I still want to be able to get my teeth into it. I can’t get my teeth into this.

    People say that it’s a burden or emotionally abusive to say that a person is instrumental to their happiness. Unfortunately, despite its connotations, you are instrumental to my happiness.

    I can only really gather the courage to write this because I don’t think you’ll ever read it. If you were to discover this I hope you wouldn’t realise that it’s for you. If you were to realise that, you’d be angry. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me?!”, would be your response.

    I can’t talk to you though. Not now. You’re a teenage boy in a cave right now; agitated and isolated and you love it. 

    I’m asking you to be someone that you can’t be, at least not yet. I’m not there yet either, my therapist calls it “fake it until you make it”. I’m faking it so much that I don’t think you know that I’m terrified like you.

    You think I’m strong which is why you talk to me the way you do. I’m not strong, I’m barely getting by.

    I wonder where we’ll be in ten years. Will we find this funny? Or will we still be bitter? 

    I think we’ll find it funny. We’ll be different people by then. I’ll still be stubborn and you’ll still be grumpy but we’ll be a bit softer.

    Years of “good living” and hindsight will have made us softer. 

    I cannot wait until we’re softer. I cannot wait until life is how we imagine it to be. We’ll be the envy of people on Instagram (if it still exists) and we’ll be smug. We will be allowed to be smug because of all the shit we will have to endured to get to that point.

    This is the shit and I’m sorry that right now even my name annoys you. Guess what, yours doesn’t make me best pleased either.

    But when I think about my life at 33 you’re there. You are instrumental to my happiness and that irritates me so much. I’m stronger with you, and that bothers me. We’re better people when we’re together. We’re softer. We’re faking it less and making our dreams a reality.

    This, right now, is shit. You’re being shit and I’m being shit. At least we’re consistent.

    In 10 years time you will no longer be known at DTB; isn’t that a refreshing thought?

    So I’ll let you be a teenage boy in a cave as long as you let me be a middle aged woman having a midlife crisis whilst going through the menopause. This is making us softer. The steak is no longer as hard to chew.