A thank you before my dreams
I’ve been quiet recently, off the radar. I usually say it’s for no reason in particular, nothing wrong. That’s an easier answer than the truth, I don’t know what’s wrong.
I go through these spells on a regular basis. Friends, tangible and cyber, ask me if I am okay to which I usually reply with a yes, true or not. I appreciate the fact that they care, it’s comforting to know people think about me enough to recognise my solitude.
As I said, I don’t know what is wrong but thank you to those who notice and make contact. I suspect that without you reaching out to get in touch I would sink into depression without realising it.
An easy pit to fall down but much more difficult to climb out.
I am back and I am doing well again, so thank you.
Last night I was dreaming. Just a regular dream, no juicy stories to tell but it did get me thinking. For the last six years I have always been ‘normal’ in my dreams. Not once have I been in a wheelchair.
I would love to understand more about dreams. I am with people I have not thought about for years. I am places I forgot existed. I relive memories I thought were lost. Most curiously, I am always walking.
This didn’t surprise me after the accident but I thought, given time, my dreams would merge with my reality. Six years is a long time for me to be living one life and dreaming another.
I sometimes struggle to decide if these dreams are a blessing or a curse.
My dreams stop me forgetting what it’s like to walk, to touch, to be touched. I know it’s not real but it’s the closest I will get. It is escapism from the chains that bind me. Without my dreams I don’t know how well I would remember what I always took for granted.
If someone loses their sight do they ever forget what it is like to watch a leaf fall from tree?
When I waken from a dream I can be smiling, still in the moment. It only lasts seconds before reality takes control again.
In a blink I am back in bed. Ventilated and unable to move, unable to wipe the sleep from my eyes. The high becomes a low and I spend some time lamenting over my loss.
A blessing or curse?
A blessing. Bittersweet but most definitely a blessing. That old quote ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’ could never be more appropriate.
I’ll gladly suffer those harsh awakenings if they provided me with a lifetime of remembering what I once enjoyed so freely.