I had a dream last night, or perhaps more accurately, a nightmare. I was fighting some strange creature that was a little like a vampire. Not so well either it would seem, I got beaten to a pulp and just as I finally went down, expecting a final blow, or perhaps some teeth sinking into my neck- I woke up.
Not a very restful sleep, but thankfully the pain in my hip was not the result of a painful gash caused by four very sharp claws, but was in fact just the springs in the wafer-thin mattress of the single bed, residing in the tiny box I call home one night a week.
The dream stayed with me though, left its mark. I can still feel the tickle of sweat in the middle of my back, the sting of the scratches, the ache of the blows and the dust in my throat as I fell to the ground. I still feel the fear and pain, and the hope that my enemy, who had been a friend earlier in the dream, would suddenly again realise that I was no threat to them, and spare my life.
As I write this it sounds so trivial and silly, but the feeling of it is powerful and after the help of my good friend Google, and a multitude of dream analysis techniques, I may have an inkling as to why.
Too many empty and/or broken promises, too many disappointments, too little commitment, too much absence.
I’m defensive, with good reason. I feel my emotional stability- which I have spent so long building- being threatened. I’m feeling drained from giving far more than I’m getting. The battle was not with someone else, it was a battle with myself, with the ugly side of me which always jumps to the worst conclusion, the side of me that’s cynical and negative. The battle result was undetermined in the end, the question of whether the final blow was delivered, left unanswered. So it’s possible that the not-so-ugly side of me might have prevailed somehow, or perhaps it was just an implication that the other side of me- the optimistic, the side of me that wants to believe in peoples best intentions- is always present, if not always dominant.
But at the end of the day, it could be fairly well concluded that even if the battle wasn’t finished, the bloodied, battered mess of me on the ground was certainly an indication that it was perhaps, lost.
So, I now face the decision to retreat from this battle, lick my wounds and fight another day. Or, fight on and risk losing the war.
The logical side of me knows what I should probably do.
So perhaps the real question is, how logical am I…?