Tuesday, May 29, 2012

shake me awake

One of my worst nightmares. I'm suddenly given a small hurt creature - a human baby, a kitten - to make well. I can't, of course, I can't even keep it alive, and it shrinks smaller and smaller as I lose it to its inevitable death, by which time I can cup it in the palm of my hand. One of my worst. I can't remember if I started having it after That One Time or not.

This time a little grey fox got hit by a car. Not bleeding or moving, just still and quiet and hurt. And there I am, crouched under the shadow of this huge car, and the wheel's taller than me, hunched over the small silky thing in my hands.

[this next thing has never ever ever ever happened before in my dream]

"Here," you say, suddenly to my right, and you've taken the fox, much smaller now. And you're rooting around in your bag for something - yeek, a syringe. The little dude is no longer than your hand now, oh god, not much time, and before I can think you've plunged the syringe - needle-less, the dream's being kind - into the creature. It's all right, it's done the trick, creature whisked off somewhere and my unicorns and rainbows will help him convalesce, maybe. Whatever, the end.

I remembered it this morning. I never remember my dreams, unless I've taken Melatonin (your idea, actually, though you'd stopped taking it because of weird dreams by the time I took your supply home with me) and even then they usually slip away if I try to tell Ramon. But last night I picked the Melatonin up and then put it back on the shelf again; the last thing I want are bad dreams,  however desperately I want to sleep, and we've already taken care of sleeplessness by pretty nearly libation-ing ourselves to sleep every night. Lying awake worrying about Simone is too cruel to contemplate. Anyway, how remarkable that it stayed with me, and I flipped the Universe a double birdy (like I haven't the whole time the shadow of her illness has hovered around us) that not only would I be sent That Dream, but I'd remember it on a day when not only was I not intended to dream, but I'd made sure by NOT taking sleep aids that make you dream. God fucking dammit.

But *I* sent it, fool that my subconscious is. Not fool. Sadist. Betrayed by my own better half. But it sent me you, too, miraculous savior that you were. You saved me as much as you saved the fox in that dream.

fox. a fawn-colored fox. my Simone, my little fox-face, my princess, my mosquito, my Queen Bitch, Little Paws, come on, kittypants, come back to me, come back to me Si Si, comebacktome...


And you. Long ago cemented in my mind and heart as a lioness who faces death, the death of her loves and those she doesn't know, with courage. And action. You hurt, and pack it all - and much too much of it - into much too small of places. But you also stay, and wait, and Do. You run to pain and death to muscle it away or smooth the passage. And you and I have found ourselves in such similar situations with regard to the mortality of non-humans, and I think my dreaming mind has been a bit cruel to us both.

And Simone's shrinking. Fading, and whether she'll return we don't know. I've now literally bathed - anointed - her in my tears, and she's drunk them. I've plunged a real needle into her, and Ramon three times. Four, tonight, unless it's my turn to have the steady hands. I haven't left the flat in days - Ramon's reintroduced my one clove per day habit just to get me on the outside landing. My current state of mind probably has to do with the fact that I've played nothing but Deva Premal on shuffle near Simone's home by the window, because why the hell not and I'm sure as fuck not trying Hail Marys over her at this point. Maybe she believes in healing chant.

I wait. I stay. I watch, and weep, and look for signs, and brush brush brush her cheeks and the top of her head, and she still leans into me and squeezes her eyes and flexes her paws. She's still here.

But girl, if you're in my dreams now, and if I dreamed Simone into a little fox...were you there to fix her body, or send her on? Needles give and release life. I wish you were here. I don't know what to do. The dream ended in relief for the first time ever, and I'm afraid my nightmare is real, and hasn't even gotten going yet.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

When Can I Stop Being Bipolar?

I can feel it, goddammit. I was in the light for so long this time I thought maybe I'd figured something great out, that I'd crossed a line and dancing and vitamin D and whatever else had lifted me up a little farther, for good - far enough that my eternal cycle between light and shadow had shallowed out, and I would be able to move at this faster pace, and lighter step, and brighter outlook between ups and downs without having to curl up in silence and weariness and sadness so completely. Ever again. Every cycle, a little farther up the hill. The meds, the therapy, all the tricks and cues, finally making me different, instead of only smoothing over the not-livable parts. No more having to make embarrassing excuses to myself, and people around me, about why I don't get out more, see them - don't I care? Don't I care enough about my friends to get out? Am I going to be stuck inside again, begging myself for enough effort to just....just put on your clothes and a little makeup, girl, and get onto the bus. Once you're on the bus, or have your feet on the sidewalk, the rest will take care of itself. Just show up. But when I'm in the shadow, I just can't seem to find enough reasons to leave my warm, stale-aired cave for noise, and faces, and people listening to me yammer and Thinking Things. And I'll see folk hurting, walking around with such pain on their faces that it will take me down too, and I'll think about my home, and my food in the fridge, and wonder what on earth *I* have to whine about.

It feels like I'm moving back into "I can't" again. And oh my god, these cycles ride ME. I don't have any other pills to take, or inspiring little mantras, and dancing last night...I ran out of steam 1 1/2 hours before we were done! No no no no NO NO...dancing is saving me, it's supposed to be making THE difference! Shit. I think I'm losing ground. And it's Spring and I ALWAYS get duped, every goddamned year! March and April? "Everything's different, this is going to be a GREAT year." And then later it'll all feel like a shiny dream I had.

Please just let this be fear talking, just a false alarm. A sore foot, off night, not enough sleep lately. My times in the light are always marred by the dread of the shadow that waits, and I can certainly scare myself enough to think I'm going dark again when I'm not. It's not real - I'm just reading too much news (WHY is everybody saying no and not yes to each other? What will we lose, WHAT?!), dwelling too much on the sorrow around me in this city (what, do I stop walking and take a cab to work every day? I'll stop seeing the sad man with the cardboard sign, and the old lady with too many garbage bags for her cart, and the tired fat lady dragging her O2 behind her, and the too-young kids sleeping in a puppy pile under a tree in the park, trying to keep out of the rain, and and and and...), getting too angry at the same bullshit. I'm not helpless. I tend to catastrophize. This is probably just a melancholy few days. Probably just a few down days.

I've been racing around gobbling up as much life as I can, because I can! and I've felt astounded at the schedule I've been keeping, at the amount of people I can interact with without costing myself anything. I've been extroverted! I've been Going Places and Doing Things. I've been so...I've actually found myself TORN between dancing with this group or the other on a certain day, think of it! I have a thing to do, so I get up and get ready and go there, no vacillating, no bargaining, no whingeing battle of weighing the pros and cons of staying put and feeling shitty or dragging myself out and maybe (probably) reaping rewards, while knowing that I'll stay where I am and curse myself for laziness regardless. It's been heaven. I've been so fucking happy. I haven't felt like a failure, or a waste, or neglectful, or lazy, or powerless, in weeks and weeks. It's okay. I knew that I wouldn't be able to go this all-out forever, that I'd have to steady a little and find medium ground and go from there. I tried to pace myself. Maybe I just have to level off, but I won't be lost again, not so thoroughly gone, and for so long. Not so long this time. Not so quiet, not so low. Please.

i can't lose this i can't face another quit i just ordered a SWORD for fuck's sake this can't be happening i'm not ready to be sad and tired again please please please let me stay in the light please the flowers just got going and I've begun new things and met new friends please don't let this slide away don't let me lose them don't let me slip away please. Please.