Last night I had a dream my girlfriend had been taking anti-anxiety meds called ANTZAC (etched into each flat, black, ominious-looking pill) to get through her day. She kept these in a candy tin along with other medications and a stray button or two. It was hard to tell the difference between them all. On her invitation I downloaded a few onto my desktop, thinking I would pop one when my feelings got too real – only to discover, of course, that if you download a pill you don’t have a “real” pill, only a virtual facsimile.
In another dream I was riding the bus and we went over a very treacherous trail on the bluff. I was holding onto the outside of the bus, stagecoach style (this was the norm of busriding in my dream – don’t ask me why) and I came very close to flying off the vehicle and onto the rock-torn surf hundreds of feet below. A numbness after the experience of almost dying.
In another dream I had a horrible fight with my mother. This does not happen in real life. But in dreams it does; demons unleashed.
Now this morning my girlfriend IMs me. She and her babydaddy are fighting. Days of anger, resentment, barely-patched over reprieves before the battle begins yet again. I wish I could infuse her with my strength, my feelings: “It will be OK”. Yes, it will. She and her family may survive intact. Life is tough with young children. You’re in the foxholes. I survived it, twice. I emerge fiercer, stronger… scared and more humble, less sure of “security” than I’ve ever been.
Keep fighting the good fight.