Broken By My Boulevard Of Dreams

Ouch.  Even after all this time, after all the therapy I’ve had, both by professionals and the cathartic experience of writing what I’m going through (or perceive as what I’m going through, which may be a different thing entirely), it hurts.  It still hurts so very much.

It’s lucky I’m not trying to pass this off as some guide to living and beating depression, stress, low self esteem and other conditions seriously affecting our states of mind.  Whatever I try to do, however I lead my life, there’s this grey cloud hanging over me.

It feels good to convey how I feel, mind, and the hope has always been that if just one person who reads this identifies with only a single thing, realises they’re not alone, and somehow feels a tiny bit better for knowing so, that it will be seen as a help to someone besides myself.

I also know, as does every one of us, that mental illness isn’t only fought and combated during our waking hours, but when we are asleep too.  It’s where I’m having my biggest struggles currently and there’s no doubt it’s really taking it’s toll on me.

Elsewhere in my life, it’s perhaps the same mix of ups and downs as most people.  There’s that extreme lack of self confidence at work, despite the assurances I’ve had from the employers about my abilities.  I have to start believing in myself and other people when they tell me how good I am, but it’s a tough ask to.

Counterbalancing that is that I’m effectively balancing my pay between bills and getting out and about.  To be able to give my lad a wee treat every now and then, as we did yesterday with a day out, and not have to worry about affording even so much as an Irn Bru, feels so so good.

The one thing of balancing the bills and pay is that I really can’t afford to live where I am any more if I want to have even the merest of social lives and afford even the most basic of foods.  Nae bother though.  I have a couple of properties lined up to have a gander at tomorrow evening.  No fuss, no panic.

I’ve surprised myself with how calm I’ve been emotionally to dealing with what could be a stressful situation.  Not only that, when I have been down, I’ve been boosted and delighted by some of the messages and contact that’s been made with me by some people.  When you wake up to someone asking how you are and a kiss, even though it’s of the virtual variety, it really helps.

Depression Road Sign

So far, then, so good, at least when it comes to waking time.  When I head for the Land of Nod, however, my dreams break me down, crush my spirits, and ensure that when I awaken I feel more tired, upset, and fearful than if I’d not bothered going to bed at all.

As ever, the dreams that are most vivid involve my ex.  The one last night, we embraced, content in each other’s arms, but then she soon disentangled herself when a member of the family turned up, became distant, and eventually turned her back on me, despite my outstretched arms.

I don’t need any dream analysts to tell me the underlying meaning of it all.  It’s evident for all to see.  What I do need help with is the deep feeling it creates within me during the dream.  It’s so, so vivid and real, and I can feel the emotions as if she was right there with me.

This carries on into my waking up stage too.  For a few, beautiful, blissful minutes, I wake up convinced that it’s real.  So the morning was spent for a while thinking – against logic, odds, and cold hard fact of the impossibility of it, at least in this lifetime – we were reunited.

When the reality dawned, as I somehow felt and knew it would during the dream itself (but curiously dismissed it in those waking moments), the familiar void within me opened right up once more.  The pain of loss was screwing with my mind and emotions yet again.   I’m in a mess.

Oh what to do?  I’ve read that quote numerous times about the one you dream about is actually thinking about you, but I’ve yet to see or hear a shred of evidence to support that.  This is a one way thought process, and when you’re going the wrong way down a one way street, it’s hellishly difficult to manoeuvre, reverse, and carry on as normal.

Maybe therapy isn’t the answer, perhaps it’s the cards dealt to me for the rest of my days, and that’s what I have to adapt to over the coming years.  It’s not exactly a palatable future, though, spending it tired and upset however well other parts of my life are going.

All I do know is that in my Boulevard, it’s not the dreams that are broken, it’s me.  Somehow I have to mend myself.  There’s plenty of things going well in my life now.  It’s just that one last bit that needs fixing.  It’s always crossing that finishing line which is the hardest part though.

Cross it I will though.  Just you see.


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