Impenetrable

The subconscious can be scary. Digging deep into the storage of our brains can reveal how much darkness we have in the ideas we possess about ourselves and the ones we love. Recently, I had a short dream that has made me simmer on a part of my identity that I’ve always been frightened of. Here is that dream:

Settled into a surgical room chair, I was surrounded by three nurses, one man and two women, that were trying to get blood samples from me. Yes, plural; samples. The man was trying to get one from my tricep and one of the women was trying to get a sample from the vein that cuts between the knuckles at the base of my middle and ring fingers.

But no matter how narrow or how strong of a needle they would use they could never penetrate the skin. I asked the third nurse, who was standing between the two and observing, if it would make sense to try my right arm. I don’t remember the exact words, but she said what they needed from me could only come from a certain place; if I couldn’t supply them from there then it proves I don’t have it in me to give them what they want.

Then, a few nights later I had a follow-up dream where I was contaminated with some chemical or drug that allowed me to destroy people by taking on different forms. The problem was, I couldn’t control it so I would end up killing my friends and family at random.

I wonder if sometimes I allow myself to get so hung up on how unappealing the world is that I stop caring enough. Lately, I’ve been so disenchanted with everything that I can’t even enjoy the things I love the most: Hugs have felt like needles; color has made me dizzy; laughter has become exhausting. This dream showed me how my battle against myself has led me to unnecessary bitterness and self-loathing to a point where I won’t allow myself to be happy for others, as well. I can’t think of a more unattractive quality.

My new short-term goal is to be just a little nicer, day-by-day, allow myself plenty of “me time” (also known as The Self-Deprecation Hour), and to shape my bruises into smiles. Perhaps then I can see a little clearer.

About Ry

It's so magical, it's gay.
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