Another World

I woke up this morning in the early hours and still dark. I had been having some fun but then unsettling dreams as I have been now for about a week. I had a sip of coffee, called for the dog and saw Steve off to work. I lay back down in bed and some potent memories began to stir in my mind. I saw myself lying in the bed of my house eight years ago. It was post massage school during my hopefully final and last episode that lasted for approximately three months. But I was unaware of time. I was deep in a world that only I myself was aware of. First I was remembering things. The new hip neighbors that had bought the house next door asking us to remove the car of which I had destroyed all of the windows in because they said it was an eye sore; some walks I had taken through the shady neighborhood after dark, strange thoughts filling my head, no direction or destination in sight. I remember some of my acts of putting the cans of soup and other items from the kitchen in the bathroom, and the breaking of some windows and the smashing of a television. But what was most interesting, was I saw myself in my room, lying on the same mattress I do today, staring into my open closet and I was feeling myself there as if it was yesterday. In my bed just now I made some pleas about my four thousand dollar car, that I was sorry. I had had a good life, owned my little house, had a nice car, was attending massage school and working towards a degree, had a well-attended and beautiful garden, and a large handful of friends who loved and respected me. In my mind in this morning moment, I saw how I had “thrown” it all away, and left it for rambling wanders, fits of destructive rage, and the desire to relinquish my loving relationship of nine years. And I ask myself “what was I thinking”, “how could I do this to Steve and I”.

Lying in my bed in this day past, I was deep in my thoughts, immersed in a world of my own making. It was quiet and dark; I had made friends with imaginary characters in my mind, and was in charge of worlds that were all my own and were still swimming around me, very much alive. I knew and understood the shadows and worlds like no other. The omnipotent edges of my mind were encrusted with most creative scenarios and some very deep and complicated realities. Sometimes I wonder where it all came from. How could I have just invented all of the adventures I was taking in my mind; vampires during World War Two, Cro-Magnons living their lives, astronauts in an alien world, ancient slaughters during a war between ancient peoples in the mountains somewhere on earth long long ago, a woman witnessing the strange events of the world ending and re-beginning over and over again, a mass worldwide treasure hunt of which I had the clues in my house, spiders born in the walls during a major eclipse that were alien and the origin of the planet and would cure aids and other major implosions of our world, a serial killer hunt, ancient stories of roman generals and characters in Egypt and during the times of Christ, major geological movements and a giant fluorite shaft under the earth beneath my house, in all of which I had played and was playing a part; all recorded in detailed indigestible or translatable notes in journal after journal. Color coded graphs written in great detail, nonsensical outlines and scribbles. Time was suspended. The world in which I really lived and other humans exist with hours and days eking and swimming by, I had no awareness. I was between worlds. Where did this all come from, how could it have materialized from nothing? Were they memories that existed inside of me? Could I have been connected to a communal subconscious, heard the whispers of angels, or been remembering past lives? Once I was broken from my dream within the walls of Harborview Hospital, though I would not completely leave part of the dream for months and months to pass, I began to accept the explanation that it all existed under the pretense of a major psychotic break.

But what if I am gifted? What if it was never meant to be destructive, suppressed, or unaccepted by our current corporate modern view of the way society should be? In bed just now, I passed through a doorway. I remembered being in a house that I have all but erased completely from my mind. I had a life and it was interrupted. I took a journey, though it may have been unpleasant and heartbreaking to watch, I was okay, I came out unharmed. I wish I knew what to do with it all. I wish my “gift” or “disability” could manifest itself for a greater purpose. I have survived, I am thriving in a way, and yet I do not want to package up all of the experiences and put them in storage for the rest of my life. Perhaps the pain of the outcome has left, and I can now journey into my open, healed and transparent self to understand on a deeper level what it all meant. Nothing is an accident, and I refuse to believe that it all has no purpose.