It might be too soon.
I’ve been struggling through twilight sleep in between periods of wakefulness and dreaming. I see all sorts of things there – Yesterday. Today. Old friends long gone. Things that are. Things that were. And some things that may not happen at all. My brain races to keep up. It is difficult and strong work I am about, even if I forget.
It may very well be too soon.
Even now I nod off at my keyboard. The weight of trauma tugging at my eyelids is less than it was two days before. Some. My hands and fingers move to dig into my skin on their own now. I don’t think I realized how much this happens. It happens when I’m feeling anything uncomfortable, any time I need time to think, any time I’m nervous.
It’s still too soon to be sure. But it’s not too soon to hope.
Right this minute I struggle with my own skin. If I was surer about who I am then I might not feel so much anxiety when I interact with other people. Just saying that has prompted a more severe amout of scratching. This is a big problem for me. Is it also a flag that I can use to predict disassociative states? It just might be. The picking and destroying of my own skin usually helps me focus in on my own imperfections and not engage in whatever is right in front of me. I think it helps me lose track of time so I can spend my precious days in limbo. And when I come out of a stay in limbo I give myself hell for it!
I just pulled off a peice of me. I am thinking the progress I made thisweek isn’t yet done. I am thinking that my brain is running so hot right now trying to reorganize things and create a world where I can exist. Where I don’t need limbo.
That’s the dream.