Before college I went to a Catholic boarding school . That's where I remember first hearing about God. I heard about Mary and her truthfulness, gifting her one of the greatest responsibilities to man kind. I watched a film where Joseph overcomes slavery and changes his destiny. And we acted out Moses in a school play to show his steadfast faith releasing a nation and guiding them to their new land.
I was in awe of their works and the dignity they carried over their lives. How they chose to improve their character instead of gaining materialistic things. They lived differently from everyone else and I wanted to as well.
I was in my front yard on a beautiful cloudy summer morning. I had to have been in first grade and wore my favorite blue overalls; with a simple white t-shirt. My short hair was tied in tiny pigtails, accentuating my cute chubby red cheeks.
I was playing with some random toys I had as a kid. The wind carried a warm breeze that hinted at the heat looming over the rest of the day; but for now it was early enough to not be a bother.
I could hear the gentle soothing tones of a man narrating my younger self's thoughts and movements. I didn't see an intercom or any speakers to indicate where the voice was coming from.
It announced in a mystical tone that I was thinking- no, wondering about how I could prove my worth to God. "I know!" she thought "I would stay strong to my convictions, like Mary, and no matter what nothing could stop me from being honest."
That's when a voice spoke to me.
"She held fast as she had instantly looked to the sky. Something deep in her knowing it was God before she even realized it herself."
Is that true? I thought
God said "are you sure about that? Nothing could move you?"
This voice appeared straight into my head. Even now. Words appeared like a passing thought forming right inside of my mind that I knew didn't come from me. I looked up to see if I could see anything in the clouds as his tone had set in. It was a question that a parent asks their child.
Not in a condescending manner but in a way your parents ask to gauge your response. Questioningly. Waitingly. He was asking me if I truly believed that. And just like my response to him earlier, I spoke again without even realizing it. My response was immediate again.
"Yes. Nothing." Even I was shocked by my own conviction. I stood so strong."Better me than them."
I was always confused by this part. I was my much older 28 year old self, staring down at my tiny self, but so translucent I was invisible to myself and God in the memory. I dreamt of this scene often.
It was a random day at my grandmother's lakehouse. The property was a decent size. You could see your neighbors on either side of you. And that was about it. Trees planted on and in between all the properties made it hard to see past that. It felt like I was in the middle of a fairytale grove. Lavender plants grew all around me.
The beautiful scenery didn't distract from the anxiety I felt, however. And, every time, I was here to view this conversation over and over again. Nothing else. Just this small conversation between God and I.
I had a faint memory of this when I thought of it in my waking life; but I felt I had this dream so often my mind filled in the gaps; so I would think this is my memory even if it wasn't. I mean the announcer had to tell me what I was even thinking. Wouldn't I know that? If it wasn't so scripted and on point every time I would think it was just a dream.
So, every so often throughout the year I would view it once and no matter how short it seemed, I'd wake up to see I slept the whole night away. The whole interaction had to have been no more than 5 minutes.
But what did I mean better me than them? Was my hero complex given to me at birth? When this thought came this one would soon follow "I feel like I took off more than I could chew."
But whenever that thought would entertain my consciousness my soul seemed to swell in anger and say no we didn't! I wish I could explain the sensation this gave me.
The closest thing I could compare it to was like running in a dream. You tried to run but you went slow no matter how hard you pushed your body to run faster. You can feel your potential and, no matter how hard you try, you can't access it.
It was a vibration that always kept my heart racing, my mind aware, and my spirit restless. I tried to use this feeling positively. Like rage cleaning I anxiously completed stages in life to this beat. Checking off milestones on a check list.
Dishes - Graduate; Check. Sweep and mop - Get a job and college degree; Check. Dusting and organizing - Find a husband and have children;
I swallowed hard at the last bullet point. Ignoring the pulsing my body was experiencing. The two forces were so parallel and extreme in their stance that I felt I would split in half from the sheer thought. My heart had a permanent line etched into it already. What was the point of putting the pieces back together anyway?
"Hmmmm." God was contemplating my answer "You're going to have to fight for the life that you want, you know that, right?"
"I know," I responded somberly.
Did I know something?
I watched my small form stare hard at a spot on the floor. "Concentration written all over her face."
I couldn't help but wonder what I was even thinking of. I looked like I was debating between something important in my head. It was hard for me to imagine my tiny self even envisioning any hardship equivalent to mine now. As if a child could answer something like that. Then on cue my tiny self looked up again. Determined. Dedicated. I missed that about myself. " but it's worth fighting for."
Was it possible to be moved by myself?
Words I had always wanted to hear came from myself and I was touched. How could someone feel that way about me? Let alone myself? I didn't even think I cared about anything anymore; yet I couldn't help but shed a tear when I heard her speak.
However, my negativity spoke to the self deprecating person that I am. Hearing this, I rolled that thought around like a lollipop in my mouth. Shaping it into sharp words with my tongue.
I cant have anything nice can I?
Yeah. I mean you only care about what happens to you. Besides, why would people care about you? Who do you think you are anyway, huh? HA! You're nobody. Remember that the next time you think you're worth anything.
I couldn't help but fuel these thoughts between the neurolinks in my brain. Bouncing them around till it began to overheat my motherboard. I found myself a fried overthinking mess. I'd try to say "But" to fight against the voice in my life that haunted me.
That just made me become a stuttering, glitchy, jumble hoping my words came out in any sort of semblance of a sentence as I fell apart. Praying someone could decipher my cries for help. It woke up a pain I didn't want to see. I needed to get out of here. I turned around from the memory.
A looming sense of ignoring accountability hung in the air around me. Coaxing me to look back. I shook my head back and forth while I covered my ears. As if sound could stop the voice.
I ignored that thought and shook harder out of spite. How old was I? I felt even more lost than I had in a long time; I couldn't help it. I threw a tantrum. It was a dream though so did it even matter? I felt like I was back to that day and I couldn't help the disfunctioning irregularities that were taking over my bodily functions.
The air around me lightened but it was too late. I was panicking.
Again!
That word threw me off the ledge I had already hurdled myself over. I gripped my fists, hard, in frustration into themselves; forming fists before I started pounding the ground like an aggressive ape. Savagely gasping I greedily took in more air to, hopefully, generate a physical equivalent to express the way I felt on the inside.
I didn't care that I was hitting something completely solid. I needed to experience anything but this feeling I was learning to manage right now. Anything had to feel better than this. And what better to hit than the very thing I felt like I was fighting. An immovable force that kept me here in my pain.
My fist never began to hurt. All I could feel was the unbearable pain in my heart. It pounded against me like the tempest waves would crash into the side of a cliff. The tears and snot rolled down my face just as ferociously. I was in the eye of the storm and all my senses were susceptible to its rage.
I could feel the air around me telling me it was okay. That it wasn't going to be like this forever. But what did it know about me? About my struggles?! This was a stupid dream that I used apparently as a big coping mechanism to feel better about myself!
I cried and cried till I couldn't cry anymore. Was this really a dream? The air around me never changed, never left, it stayed; and for some reason I felt reassured by that.
I was worried it had left.
I rolled to my back and went to stare back at the memory; however, it was gone. All that remained on my grandma's front yard was my lying form. I closed my eyes in both relief and shame. Soaking up the sun and letting the rays heat up my skin.
Sun bathing always had a way of relaxing me. I was comforted by the heat and got cold often. Especially when I had panic attacks. Which, as I currently just displayed, has now become a daily ritual.
I hated these moments after my attacks. I felt so childish. I wanted to hit something again but stopped myself. I am a 28 year old adult woman. Act like it.
Sure you are.
Hearing this brought my anger back to boiling and I was back to my breathing techniques. I felt personally wronged. I didn't care how childish I came across, I felt it was deserved! I have a right to my feelings, right?
Isn't that what they all said?! So, why is it wrong that I am here? Why is it wrong that I am so mad? So hurt, huh? Tell me why?!
You try living with this!
I choked back on my own mental rant. I had imagined myself dressed elegantly and holding myself up high above a podium as I gave a speech only Martin Luther King Jr. could deliver. Rallying up my feelings to point at my accuser. I was riding a high on my own justifications and it was an ugly high to be on.
I could feel the air agree with me.
I know, I know I thought quickly. Not bothering to linger on the thought further.
But… I need time. I just need more time. This was just too much.
The air moved once more and it felt reassuring again. My heart lightened and I opened my eyes. I noticed I was silently shedding tears. It was a slow steady stream. I wiped them away just as slowly. Trying to take in the wave of emotions I was feeling. I was exhausted in my own dream.
I don't remember my dreams feeling like this; but, then again, I have never thrown myself to the ground like that either so, who knows? Maybe that triggered something. Either way I wasn't sure how to feel about it. I felt like something was trying to get me to concentrate on the thought but I was so exhausted from my emotions that I didn't bother to venture far down that rabbit hole.
I need to focus on better self soothing mechanisms so I don't embarrass myself in real life. The air around me seemed to approve because it felt lighter. Almost happy at the thought of me getting better. I tried to hide the smile that wanted to form. It just feels good to know someone - erm… well rather something, cared.
Ugh, I felt crazy. I just want to lie here.
So, I did. I cleared my thoughts and relaxed my body. Focusing on my body temperature and the heat on my skin. I enjoyed the warm breeze that embraced me. Its scent was of grass and pine trees. This time a smile graced my face as I drifted off between space and time.
Opening my eyes again I awoke to the sun shining on my face. I guess my cat had opened the curtain. I looked for her but decided she had taken off already. She was probably on the couch. Like her, mommy here, she liked to lounge in her own area.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sun briefly before I physically got up. I faintly started remembering my dream. I remembered the sun, and the crying, and, ugh, the tantrum. But then I remembered something else. I think it was a feeling? A moment?
The dream lingered but soon the feeling loomed over me. I was only happy in this brief moment before I remembered. I looked at the empty spot next to me and laid my head on his pillow.
"Oh, Mark." I gasped out. Clutching onto his pillow crying.
It still smells like him; Oh God, why?
I let the dream leave my thoughts and I could feel it remove itself from my memories. Starting off my day as usual of succumbing to the depression that devoured me. The dream left my consciousness and an image of a hand reaching for me came into my mind.
Scared, I opened my eyes and looked around me. Only to be met with silence. I forced myself to get up at that point. I wanted to take Mark's pillow with me but the therapist said I needed to stop doing that. I sprayed his cologne on my wrist instead, then I walked to our daughter's room and laid on her bed.
I cried into her pillow as I imagined my small family was with me again. I wish they were here with me. After an hour I got up and felt my body needed nutrition. I needed to eat anything at this point. I robotically went through my day. I woke up, cried, ate, did my job, then cried again.
By the end of the day I had forgotten about the dream entirely. My heart ached at that thought. I tried to remember what it it even was; but in frustration I threw the thought away. Figuring it wasn't important enough to remember. What was I even trying to remember again anyway? Ugh, I hate feeling useless.
Is that why I feel so disappointed?