I slept until after 10 this morning. I am usually up by 7. I don’t know what that was about. I was having a crazy dream that I couldn’t seem to get out of- maybe that was it. In the dream, I was in Florida, and I was trying to get a plane ticket to get back to New York. At first, I thought I had bought a round trip ticket, and I was looking everywhere for my return ticket, then I thought maybe I had only bought a one way ticket and had forgotten to buy a return ticket. I was trying to buy a ticket on my computer, but I could never seem to get to right site. I tried calling, and then I went to the front desk of the hotel, asking for help and to use their computer. It kept going on and on, and I was thinking I needed to get back for work, and figuring out where I was going to stay in Florida until I could get a ticket, and the hotel started remodeling as all this was going on, and they had pulled up the carpet in the hallway and had moved the bed out of my room, and then there was a older man that had moved his stuff into my room, as he had rented the room for the next day because I was supposed to be leaving, but had no plane ticket and couldn’t manage to get one purchased, and on and on it kept going, this was mixed in with me getting ready to go to Brent’s for dinner. Bethany was with me, I was in the bathroom fixing my hair and Bethany and I were going to Brent’s to have dinner with him and I feel like Noah was already there. Then there were these dead animal carcasses on the floor where Bethany and I were- 3 lager ones, I picked them up and realized that one had fur on part of its outside, and that led me to determine it was a rat. Then in the foyer area of where we were, there were dozens of dead mouse carcasses on the floor. I said something to her like, “I don’t know what we’re going to do about that,” as we were leaving. So weird. I was kind of jumping back and forth between the two scenarios. Very vivid and weird. I have tried to read about dreams before and I am always left unsatisfied. My conclusion is that there is no evidence that dreams mean anything or have any significance. For some reason, that is hard for me to accept. I feel like they should mean something.
Later, that same day…
It’s 6:05 pm and I haven’t left the house all day except to walk outside to get the mail. My daughter is in town. I know because I saw it on Facebook, not because she called me or came by. I am wrestling with trying to find the will to live. That sounds really dramatic and maybe stupid, but I’m just trying to find something to latch onto that will make me want to live. I try to think about my job. I think I have nothing else in the world to do but my job, so I can become the greatest teacher of all time. Another line I tell myself is that by not having someone, I will be available if someone I’ve loved for years becomes available. I try to think about things I can do, like the foster parent training, and how maybe I can become a foster parent once I get a place to live. I said I was going to go back to school, but I don’t want to. No part of me wants to do that. I think it will be a waste of time and money. I will spend all that money and time and effort to get that certification and no one will ever hire me in an admin job. Most people think I’m flakey or flighty or whatever because I’ve changed jobs so often. I don’t know what I am. I do know that I am the adult child of an alcoholic and that defines every minute of every day of my life. I am sitting here alone on December 23rd with not a single human sole but my mother that gives a damn if I take another breath. I have a brother and sister that couldn’t care less about me. I don’t get it. I don’t know why it’s like that. My two children don’t care about me. At best, I could say my kids are fond of me, but that seems like an overstatement, to be honest. I know I took the hardest hit from our childhood because I was the oldest. My brother was only 10 when my dad stopped drinking. The wildly dysfunctional life continued, just without the drunkenness, to be sure, but he nor my sister ever felt like they were in charge and had to protect the others, or had to care for the others. I have learned in the past few years that those “adverse childhood experiences’ have made me into the person I am. My very brain cells were molded by all that I endured. I vividly remember standing in my bedroom door when I was around 4 or 5, looking into my room where my drunk father lay in my bed in his own piss, breaking the bars off my headboard one at a time. He was yelling at my mother who was standing with me at the door, “you want me to break another one? I’ll break another one.” and then he would snap another part of my bed in two. I remember his screaming, hollering all night long for his mother. I have no idea why, he just always did that. He would yell, “Mother! Mother!” followed by, “goddam.” I would listen to that all night long, then get up the next day and go to school.
It’s no great mystery why I am such a fucked up person. I cannot imagine any way that I will ever live to die of old age. I figure that I will reach a point where I just can’t do this anymore. I am strong as fuck, or I wouldn’t have made it this far. No one has a fucking clue what I’ve lived through. Yes, I know there are people that have had it way worse than me, but so the fuck what. That doesn’t make what happened to me okay. I was never beaten up or sexually abused, and I am grateful for that, truly. However, I’m still pretty screwed up from what I endured. Being neglected hurts, too. Having to be the adult in your house when you’re six is not okay. Having to hide in a closet with your baby sister from your own father because he’s crazy fucking drunk is not goddam normal. I am a complete basket case, but I’ve fucking earned it.