When Dreams Hover

A man walked by our table while my wife and I were eating dinner tonight. He didn’t do anything wrong. Just walked by. But it hit me like a punch to the gut.

All I could think about was that dream. The one that didn’t really happen, but feels like it did. I don’t know why my body reacts like this. My stomach hurts. My chest feels tight. I want to crawl out of my skin.

I hate that something as small as a stranger passing can make everything inside me twist like this. I want to feel normal again.

I hate that a dream is affecting me like this. I was fine all day, so I really thought it would fade out. Maybe it still will… it’s the same day after all. It just makes me feel broken, and I don’t like that. I also don’t like who it’s associated with.

I don’t think I’m ready to head into this kind of territory with my new therapist. Actually, I know I’m not. And that’s what makes this harder. I don’t have anyone to talk through it with. I know it might seem dramatic to be this affected by a dream, but if you could be in my skin for a moment, I think you’d understand how alive it feels.

This is when my grief likes to surface too. When I have this deep feeling of aloneness. Of needing someone who can sit with me so I’m not stuck in this alone. It’s profoundly painful. Heartbreakingly painful.

And as I fill with this familiar grief, I also have the grief of knowing my grandmother’s cat (the one I adopted when she passed) doesn’t have much longer with us. Well fuck, it really likes to hit me all at once, doesn’t it.

Listen, I’m grateful for the break in the internal chaos when I get it, but if I could not experience the tsunami of emotions after, I’d also like that too.

Authors Note:

I’ll be okay. Writing it out really is cathartic on its own. Maybe this is just a heavy moment, and it’ll pass.