I had a dream a few weeks ago; I can't remember when, but I made some notes. It's taken a while to pull this entry together, so I've given it a random date in the first half of October. So vivid, so real, but sadly just a dream, should ask Paul to add a page to the WHDs website for just dreams. "Sha's Midnight Mind" or something equally pretentious, as I was in my younger days

 

The dream:

 

I was independent. I had a life, a job, a social life, hopes, dreams and goals. Simple, achievable daily goals. You know, revolutionary stuff like "go to shops" and "remember what day it is." Happy times.

I could drive. I liked what I saw in the mirror - my hair was long, strong, healthy and the brightest red. The bangs were back, and I could fit into my favourite clothes. And my family were happy. I wasn't held together with painkillers and sheer bloody-mindedness.

I took long walks, went to the gym, and attended yoga classes, as well as the gym with friends. Popped to the shop to get something I'd forgotten to pick up earlier and decided on a spontaneous trip to the cinema. (You know, like a normal human person who doesn't need three days' recovery time from said trip to the cinema.)

I was independent again. I earned my own money. I wanted something to buy as a surprise for someone - BANG - I could afford it. I could take my family out, get them random gifts, and walk into a shop, taking my size off the rail without trying it on because I knew it would fit (vintage and charity shops were always my favourites). Not having to do the awkward dance in a wheelchair-accessible changing room while simultaneously hoping they actually have one.

It's the waiting. The appointments. The referrals. The waiting. The meds. The treatment plans. Round and around and around. It's like being stuck on the world's worst merry-go-round. Can I get off now, please?

I feel like the best years of my life are passing me by, lying here in bed, alone. Well, except for two cats who are judging me from the end of the bed. Thanks, Mika. Cheers, Scarlett. Very helpful. As I wait for sleep, I hope it will come. (it didn't.)

Waiting for morning to get up and start again. I just have to KOKO and not give up hope, be more positive.

Three Good Things:

1. I had a good day today - before this restless night, before the dream stirred up all these feelings and my brain decided to have a crisis at 1am (as you do), I actually had a decent day. That matters. That counts. Even if my brain's now like "remember when you had a LIFE?" Yes, brain. I remember. Thanks for that.
2. The dream itself - As much as it hurts to wake from it, at least my subconscious still remembers what joy feels like. What independence feels like. That version of me isn't completely lost. She's still in there somewhere, waiting. Probably having a nap because she's sensible enough to do so.
3. Paul is sleeping peacefully downstairs - At least one of us is getting rest. And knowing he's there, that I'm not actually alone in this house even when I feel alone in my head - that's something. Plus, if I really need him, I can text him. Modern romance, folks. "Babe, I'm having an emotional crisis at 1am, fancy a cuppa?"

Bonus good thing: The cat hasn't abandoned me for the comfy chair downstairs. Small mercies.

Today's Intentions:

• Be gentle with myself about this grief (because that's what this is, and grief at 1am is particularly dramatic)
• Remember that bad nights don't mean bad days ahead (even if my brain is currently catastrophising like it's an Olympic sport)
• Do one small thing that makes me feel a tiny bit more like myself (maybe put on actual clothes? Revolutionary.)
• Maybe look at that dream not as what I've lost, but as what I'm working towards (glass half full and all that, even if the glass is currently just out of reach)
• Keep holding onto hope, even when it feels ridiculous (hope is free, might as well use it)
• KOKO (Keep On Keeping On) - even if "on" means "horizontal"
• Try not to text Paul at 2am just because I'm having feelings (he needs his sleep, bless him)

It's okay to grieve the life you had, bab. It's okay to want more. It's okay to be tired of being tired. It's okay to have a full-blown existential crisis at stupid o'clock in the morning.

But you're still here. Still fighting. Still finding those silver linings even at 01:17 in the morning when everything feels impossible and your brain's being a proper cow about it.

That counts for something.

That counts for a lot.

Even if it feels like it counts for nothing right now.

Love, Sha x

P.S. If you're reading this and you're also awake at stupid o'clock, yearning for the life you used to have - I see you. We're all out here, remembering when things were different, and wondering if we'll ever feel "normal" again.

Sending you gentle thoughts and cuddles through the darkness. And a virtual cup of tea. Or wine. Whatever gets you through.

We'll get through this night. And then we'll tackle tomorrow. Or at least open our eyes tomorrow. Baby steps.

One breath at a time. One hour at a time. One "what fresh hell is this" moment at a time.

P.P.S. To Dream-me with the fabulous red hair and the ability to walk to the shops - I miss you. But current-Me is doing her best. And that's going to have to be enough for now.