Drowning in Dreams

March 30, 2017

 

Alas it is always in the wee hours when I am called to write. When my mind is exhausted from the thoughts of the day, when my heart is weary, and my bones heavy. When the words just spill forth, my fingers flying across the keyboard as they once did with pen on paper. I find myself sitting here in the red velvet chair in the quiet of the hour after the children are finally in bed, and oh how weary I am. 

 

I fight with myself even now as I type this, whether or not to share these words. These thoughts. Because we are constantly under a barrage of commentary in our life-that-is-social-media to only be (or only share) positive things. To speak positively, to tell everyone everything is ok, even if it really fucking isn’t. Told that we’re not manifesting what we want in life because we’re too negative, belittled and attacked when we share our vulnerable truth, our grit and our pain because people only want to see our sunshine and rainbows and posts about herbs. We keep everything inside because we’re afraid to dump our ‘negativity’ on our friends, especially when things are going well for them, or buy into the belief that if we keep feeding the monster it will never be vanquished so we're afraid to share for risk of making it stronger... or we’re put down by others when we can’t help but fall back into ‘negative’ thought patterns when shit just can’t seem to go our way. And boy, shit has not been going my way for a long, long time. And I’m so, so tired and so, so weary of it all. I’m sorry if you came here for posts on herbs or homesteading and instead found this raw pain and darkness, but here it is. You can take it or leave it, it doesn’t matter to me. But I need to get it out of my head, off my chest.

 

I’m tired of thinking one door has opened, only to have it shut in my face. Of thinking I’ve taken the right path only to fall into brambles at a dead end, able to see my destination on the other side of the impassable hedge yet having to turn back to find another way. Tired of trying so hard to get to where I want to be, and not budging an inch… of seeing no change, no progress, or outright backtracking. I’m being consumed by despair, that we will never find a home, our home. That we will never find the community we so desperately want and need, that I will never finish my midwifery training, that I will never have my business succeed, that we'll never be free of this debt…. And then there is anger on top of the despair for falling prey to the constant hamsterwheel obsession of these thoughts turning over and over and over and over in my mind to the point where I can’t think straight and my chest tightens in pain and I have to find something, anything, to numb the noise, the pain before I break down completely.

 

It is in those low moments that my old companion depression begins to sink its claws around my throat and fill my nose and mouth so that I canna breathe, that nightmare sitting on my chest as I sleep. It is in those moments that I have to be warry of vices for fear that I will become like my father or his father. In a moment of weakness seeking something to fill the emptiness, something to numb the pain. Something to take me away from this place for awhile. I dinnae ken what I am to do, and am on the verge of giving up. I’ve tried ‘manifestation’ rituals, I’ve prayed, I've done spells, I’ve sent e-mails and tried to reach out and make contact with others of like-mind, I’ve talked to realtors and mortgage brokers and home owners, I’ve tried fundraisers and sponsored ads online, I’ve given my business cards to anyone I talk to, all to no avail.

 

In one moment I am completely certain of what I am meant to be doing, and in the next full of doubt and feeling like a failure; of deciding yes we’ll live here, but then having the soul-wrenching draw to move there… not knowing where to go, where we belong. No wonder I am continuously drawing the Four of Cups, the Selkie longing for another life no matter where she is. It is like a soul-curse, this Selkie blood. Always searching, never satisfied, on top of everything else... It is all utterly and completely overwhelming and depressing, to say the least.

 

I am lost. Lost in a sea of thoughts, drowning in dreams. And so very, very tired.

 

Dream deep dear ones,

 

Juniper Wren

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© 2017 by Femme de la Foret // Aileen Peterson

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