|
|
11-05-01 - 11:45 p.m. After work and after seeing Janet (who spent a good chunk of time scribbling in her notebook about my hand), I went to meet Bryan and Justin at Casa de Cory for Bryan's birthday party. Talk about knowing how to drag your birthday out... I passed out on the couch there. I didn't drink anything (there was nothing to drink, a sober party) but I guess I was just that exhausted. I spent a few hours in the emergency room last night waiting to be seen to get my hand stitched up. The doctor didn't ask me too much. That was nice. I had a really strange dream when I was asleep. I was in my room, sitting on my bed, cross-legged, and I had a razor blade pressed to the edge of my wrist. I wasn't crying, but I remember that in my dream I was about to, and I was contemplating ending it once and for all (again). As I applied more pressure and began to drag the blade ever-so-slowly across my veins, I heard a voice behind me say, "You're not even doing it right. Press harder, trace the veins." It was Amber, my old roommate from Bayview, the one who killed herself, who slashed her wrists, traced the veins. In my dream, I didn't do what she told me to do. I just continued to drag my knife across my wrist, horizontally, the way Ann did it. I watched the blood bubble out, timidly at first, then more and more profusely as I exposed my vein further. Tan skin turned crimson and soon my entire hand and arm were drenched in blood. In my dream I saw Rob weeping. He pushed a pillow onto my wrist and told me, "There's still time to make amends" which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but hey, dreams never do. He just kept saying that and sobbing and trying to stop my wrist from bleeding, but soon the pillow had soaked up the blood like a cotton ball and he had to give it up. If anything else happened right after that, I've forgotten it. The next thing about that dream I remember is me on a bridge, looking down at the cars below, my arm bandaged heavily as though I had survived my wrist-slitting. Then I jumped, but I landed in the bed of a pickup truck. Rob was driving the pickup truck. Rob does not own a pickup truck. Kellie does, though. Dream-time skipped ahead again and I was in a bed, though I don't think anything was wrong with me. But Rob was again by my side, crying and holding my hand. Was I supposed to be dead or something? I woke up and immediately went home to call Janet. I told her everything I've just typed in (everything I could remember) and said I had no idea what it meant, asking for her input. "Laura, you know what that means, so why are you asking me?" "Why would I ask you if I knew what it meant?" "Because you never ask questions unless you already know the answer. You bluff all the time to prove yourself right and to personally satisfy yourself through your own cunning." "Right." "So it was symbolic, right?" "I guess." "The slitting of the wrists probably represented...?" "My...wanting to die?" "Let's say your reluctancy to live." "My reluctancy to live, got it." "And Rob always showing up symbolized...?" "That I need him?" "That you depend on him, yes." "But that sucks. I don't want to depend on him." "You deserve co-dependency right now. You've already taken too much upon yourself. You didn't really expect to make it through all this alone, did you?" "I had hoped to." "Why?" "To prove to myself that I can be strong." "That would only be proving stupidity. Strength of mind is just as important as strength of spirit. Your spirit is as strong as anybody's can be. If you ever want to be strong of mind, if you ever want to be wise, you're going to have to let someone help you. Part of wisdom is knowing when to get help and from whom." "So you think I should get back together with him?" "No, I'm saying you should let him be there for you." "Oh." "And get some real sleep." "I'll try." I have the greatest therapist in the world. I hate it when she's right, though. This will involve some behavior modification I know I'm not gonna like. Stupid, stupid life.
|