It was late when I went to bed, later than usual. But that was ok, I had taken a long nap after dinner and spent some time looking at the site and thinking about what I want to do with the site. I fear that the tech side of things has been dominating lately, and want to work a little bit more on the child abuse stuff, possibly even moving it all over from the geocities domain. I have some ideas, but little time to really make a go of it just yet.
Those thoughts were still lingering when I finally ventured into the bedroom, along with my choice of bedtime music. It seems that I need to have something playing in the cd player, and the headphones on to drown out the world before I can safely fall asleep. Tonight’s choice was an oldie for me, Midnight Oil’s Breathe album. It’s been a long time since I had listened to it at night. It used to be much more common. Back in Jan. 1997, right after my release from the hospital, it was one of only about 3 cassette tapes that had made the trip back from Baton Rouge with me, so I would listen to it at night often.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, in that vague state where you are neither awake nor fully asleep, it hit me. I closed my eyes and it was Jan 1997 again. I could see myself laying in my parents house, could get the same sense and feel of that bedroom. Could picture it perfectly, though it hasn’t been arranged the same way for years. I could feel the headboard of that long-forgotten bed right above my own head, though we have no headboard. I tried to open my eyes, to convince myself once and for all that this wasn’t real when the pain started. Yes it was 1997 again, because I could feel the pains in my arm, could feel it exactly where the IV had been ripped, and where the numerous injections were given to me. I could see in my mind’s eye the exact same bruises, the same needle marks.
I started to realize that wasn’t all I felt, I was feeling the same swelling and aching in my feet and ankles. I could feel the fever ravaging my body, making it weak, and most of all, I could feel the fear. I could feel all the same desperation, anxiety, and loneliness. I was almost overcome with a sense of rage, of panic, of wanting to throw myself out of the window and have it all be over, done with.
It was only then that I could open my eyes, that I could look all around me, see that it was, indeed, 2002 and not 1997 again. I could still feel the pain, but it was fading, the panic doing likewise. I tore the headphones off of my head and tried to settle back in for the night. I got back to that half-awake, half-asleep state again. My subconscious, being not so eager to let go of this, brought me back to that sickly state again, in a sort of semi-dream I saw myself suffering with pain and fever. I was, to my mind, weak, thin, and pale. I could feel the pain, and the desperation began to creep back in. My conscious mind, with all the effort it could muster, told my dream-self that this was in the past, that I am healthy now, physically and mentally. Only this time my dream answered back. I don’t know how the communication took place, I don’t remember hearing any voices, and there was no speaking in the dream but however the words got there, when they hit my conscious mind, they startled me awake, I think I even gasped. I know I woke up in tears, and continued to cry for a good long time.
The response to my conscious mind was “You’re right, this is the past, but it’s also your future.”