I realize that I have been absent for a week….it was however not intentional. between Dr’s appointments and books releasing….I just brain fogged. Though I did have a nice surprise. went to the Dr because I have a sinus infection and the check in notes acknowledged that I have fibromyalgia and Autism. both of them previous doctors were not willing to diagnose me with. though other doctors had? I am sure that they are correct and having a dr agree just feels so good.
I should be doing the daily thing again through November but I don’t think I’ll be doing the normal week posts as I am doing 2 pad challenges and trying to do the Fae 50k.
I am fifty years old. I have had a repetitive dream for as long as I can remember. at least 40 plus years. I am terrible at dream interpretation and I don’t know if I even want it completely interpreted. It now feels like a journey I have finished. Let me explain by telling you that dream first and then I will fill the remaining details in. This is not fiction though I suppose it could be an interesting read. This is the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.
I start the dream in the same place. I always know that I am dreaming, but I am unbothered by that fact. I am on the third floor of a three story house and I have been here before. I am comfortable here. Before me is three doors and a staircase down. I start exploring the first door. I am never alone. the people change, no one stays with me for long at this point. I know everyone, they are people that I have met or will meet in my life. Everyone I have ever cared about was in the dream – some before I ever met them. It takes me a full day to explore each door. The rooms are laid out with symbols of different aspects of the life I have lived. (in example…one room is a gorgeous library that has decor resembling a roma’s wagon, another one is a beautiful bedroom with a canopy bed and carved decor – ivory elephants, onyx roses, wooden trees.) Three rooms, each room takes a full day to explore. so it takes me three days to reach the stairs.
I continue the same pattern on the second floor. Again three doors and a staircase going down. I am starting to see outside at this point and I feel the urge to rush, though I do not. I want to be outside but I am intrigued with the house. As I reach the bottom of the second stairs I am in the middle of the largest kitchen I have ever seen. the smells are so interesting and I feel like I should linger but it causes anxiety to stay. The companions are still there but they are like a radio left playing…background noise. I am focused on the door to the outside. I can clearly see the yard now but I know that I will not reach it. The moment my hand touches the doorknob I wake up.
I have sought dream interpretation before because of the frequency and vivid nature of the dream. Now I know how it ends, sort of.
I went to bed yesterday and I immediately had a night terror.
So I sat up and spent a few hours trying to get my head back together. When exhaustion finally consumed me and I simply couldn’t hold my head up anymore I tried again.
This time I knew I was in the same dream but I was not in the house. I was behind it. The yard had a rusted swingset covered in thick webs. The yard was overgrown and I could see things in the grass. I didn’t spend time trying to figure out what. I still had compainions. We walked carefully around the house. There was only one door into the house and when I started the dream I was staring at it. I had always assumed that it faced the driveway. it did not. after I got around the house there was a dirt driveway that went out as far as I could see. I started walking down the driveway and I woke up. For the first time feeling like I finished the dream.
Now, I know it doesn’t seem like that is the end of the story but I understand it. sometimes the journey is not supposed to end. Sometimes it is more about the journey than it is about either end.
I have never had great self esteem. I honestly do not see myself with the eyes others have. And you know what? That is perfectly fine. I struggle with where I fit in society. Perfectionism and imposter syndrome war for control of my life. But then there is all I am capable of.
I can make candles. I can make lovely jewelry. I make resin art. I paint. I sketch. I do digital art. I do watercolor art and other multimedia art. I code in c++. I sew. I crotchet. I garden. I bake. I cook. I edit. I write poetry. I write stories. I do amateur photography. I have random bits of useless knowledge in my head. I help people. I do cover design. and sometimes I am even a decent person.
in the social life I struggle with interacting and being friends. I don’t see the beauty of my own body but I am able to see the intelligence and kindness within.
so maybe it’s just me over thinking what self esteem really means.
So I was talking to my therapist about how inadequate I felt when it came to my art…she laughed and said stop trying to be perfect leave some for the rest of us…and it got me thinking.
I feel inadequate and insecure but honestly how many people are intimidated by what I do manage. I might seem to be handling it perfectly to the outside…but so many do not see how close I get to jumping off my own personal cliff.
No one judges me as badly as I judge myself. So I promise you that I am not perfect. I drop more balls than I catch on any given day. I work myself to exhaustion and then I get mad at myself for napping.
So, trust me I am not perfect. I am kind hearted and I will gladly help those I can. Which has gotten me called a door mat a few times. I have boundaries but most people don’t know when I get done, because I don’t keep contact with the people that break boundaries.
There’s still days where I don’t see my own light. Days I struggle with my demons. I am doing better….but I am not done yet.
So I posted about an anthology that Serena is in. It really is such a lovely book. The other authors are amazing…and I can’t help feeling like I don’t belong there. The story I wrote was decent…I am not going to claim it was awful or any crap like that. But there is an Introduction in the front of the book that lists that authors as the top horror and dark romance authors…And my brain goes ok now I am guilty of lying to these amazing people.
Imposter syndrome is such a tough thing to grapple with. Most of the best authors I know fight with it. It can seriously cripple even the best writer to a mess and make writing a defeated blank on an overthinking mind…
So, I am struggling with my own brain. I don’t want to accept the idea that I am unable to tell the stories locked inside the squishy lump calling itself my brain.
So, I had decided to take the publishing Demystified and turn it into a book. I didn’t think it past the idea that I could do it in a book. I didn’t think about what it would do to my blog. I am going to be thinking about it through the month of November. Any suggestions you have might give me something to think about.
I will be posting at least twice a day because of the 2 P.A.D. challenges throughout November and I will not be posting my normal posts during that time.
I am not sure which way I will be doing for the poetry yet. I may be doing a bit of both. After all one will make my Instagram active too.
I love what I do. I love the results of my work. I just have had a lot more on my plate lately than I expected. I had a friend recently reach out and ask how I was doing…and it caught me off guard. I was touched by the idea that she would even ask. I think I forget that I might matter sometimes.
My youngest child is in the process of moving into their own house. I am so torn. They are 20 and ready to do this but I worry about it. Add in the fact that I have had a child to worry about since I was 14 and I find myself with no children to make decisions about…I am going through a lot of emotions that I don’t know what to do with.
Serena’s poem this week came from a news story about a child being drowned by their own parent. it’s not an uncommon story…but I’m getting tired and old. I have never been able to understand what drives a parent to kill their kids. I don’t understand why parents abuse their own child either. I have had some issues where I have made mistakes but I am not talking about that. I am talking about the ones that purposely hurt the kids. I don’t understand why.
Innocence is not a reason to hurt. If you can’t handle kids don’t have any. Some people just should not be parents.
I really don’t want to have the discord in my soul that politics brings. However, I have found myself being drawn into the fray a lot more lately.
I purposely did Fighting Ignorance as a volume of political poetry because I found myself actually mad about the political issues that were coming out.
I remember thinking that everyone was pushing me to have opinions on politics when I was trying to survive being a young adult in a world that was trying to destroy me. So I refused to get involved. It did the opposite of what everyone was trying to do.
I wanted nothing to do with the news, because it would add more stress on an already tired me. Terrorism was not the people who came from a far to change my country…it was the nightly news telling me that humans were doing such awful things to each other.
I now see the political climate and wonder why we are going backwards. I read a new bill that will make voting harder for those who are like me. My birth certificate and my drivers license have two different names. My name was changed as a child. It was supposed to be changed on my birth certificate as well and due to a paperwork snafu it was not.
I keep seeing more political issues that make me feel like this country is not a safe place for me to live in, and I have no ability to do anything about it. This is why I hate politics. It engenders fear.
I am going to keep hoping for things to turn out well, I will be voting…even if my voice is probably not going to be heard.(1 live in a red state and with the electoral college in place only 51% of the vote is needed to make the choice. So my voice is likely to be unheard.)
I don’t like politics and I don’t like that I have no voice in the way my life is going to be run.
Terrorism is not always an external thing. Sometimes it’s the nightly news telling you world events.
Pattimouse 