5/2/2023 -
While entering a liminal state I'm having a conversation with my late grandma in which she informs me:
"Your mind is best when it's like a light switch."
And with this declaration I'm jolted into waking consciousness. Since I'd been dealing with the worst thyroid depression I have in months, I can't help but think this means I'm supposed to be continually exposed to the dark but honestly I'm not sure. It's pretty cryptic but this same grandma was the one who informed me that I wouldn't be who I was without my Hashimoto's disease in a dream a couple years ago. To be fair, who would I be without the continued descents into blackened self loathing and anhedonia? Some douchebag yuppie most likely.
Now I find myself in an extended dream about my family going on vacation to some eastern European country. What country this is, is never particularly defined but in the dream I eventually decide it's Romania because sure, why not. When we arrive at the hotel we decide to go out to dinner. The food in this country is supposed to be amazing but honestly this offering is pretty dull. It's almost like the fixins for a gyro with no gyro. Just like a pita with some vegetables in it and some mostly flavorless white cream sauce. I look out the window at the supposedly amazing view and again, it's actually pretty bland. The restaurant is near a lake and there are some dry hills surrounding the lake which are sparsely filled with dark brown vegetation and few trees. I mean, it's not like it's ugly but it's not the pacific northwest either.
After our boring meal we're driving back to the hotel and this is when I realize that we're with my parent's cleaning lady who's from this country. I, uhhhh. Ok. This is so on point in encapsulating my shitty parents it's unreal though. Willing to go halfway across the world to take their cleaning lady on a trip to her home country but not being willing to lift a single finger to do anything for my Dad's children from his prior marriage? Yup. That's exactly who they are. In fact, my brother and I lived in Seattle for nearly 4 years when they lived in Portland before they once came and visited. I'll never forget that e-mail.
"Hi kids, we're coming up to Seattle to see our former dog in a dog show, and maybe we'll be able to fit you in for a dinner."
I wish I was making that up but that story is entirely true. They cared more about their former dog than they do us. Anywho, this cleaning lady takes the wheel of the car because she's more accustomed to driving on the left side of the road, but the second she does she promptly runs into a tree. Then a swing set on a playground. At this point I volunteer to drive.
The dream ends with us in a convenience store that we're stopping at on the way home. I'm sort of amazed that they have all the crappy American beer we do and am about to buy a six pack of Miller Light but my Dad stops me. We can get better beer than that. Except that when we start looking, they do have bunch of craft beer, but none of it in six packs. And that's about the end of that dream.
I wake up briefly and get back under. The next thing I know, I'm in some sort of scenario where we're required to sing the next song that comes on the radio, whatever that song happens to be. It's my turn and I'm tasked with If It Makes You Happy by Sheryl Crow. When I get to the chorus, I start belting it out with such an extreme intensity that it pulls me out of a dream state. Like, I'm really nailing this shit and my voice is so powerful that it's reverberating through the astral plane to the point that it wakes me up.
As I'm lying in bed I realize something. Yep. Exercise has been my saving grace through all of my years dealing with untreated Hashimoto's disease and yet, I'm pretty sure working out too much is exactly what's continually causing me to feel like shit. I'm running into the fact that because of my disease there are definite limitations to how much I can work out, which is goddamn near impossible for me to accept. Why the hell am I so sad? Well, maybe because I'm pushing my body further than it can actually go.
Fuck, the dream from the night before about sleeping with Luka Doncic and the woman with the huge ass. I knew exactly what this was getting at. I find people with fuller bodies sexually attractive and yet I've always hated the fact that I'm a more muscular dude rather than a skinny one. I hate my own body and I always have. I don't find myself sexually attractive and have always sort of been surprised that a lot of other people do. I literally haven't looked at myself with my shirt off in the mirror in nearly a decade at this point because I find my shirtless self repulsive. I'd say like 98% of the population wishes they looked as good as I do.
You're in hell. Life is torture and what other clever way to torture someone than make the exact thing that liberates them mentally turn into the thing that's making them miserable. Yeah, that's unbelievably brutal, but that's my life. Nobody said the talking monkey shit show class was easy. It's super duper extra fucking hard.
Comments