On a good day I sometimes see myself as a fixer. I turn up, facilitate what is needed, whether it’s networking, encouragement, revealing a truth, or something practical…storm in a teacup if you like, and once the ripples settle, and things are moving the way they should, it’s time for me to move on. Little bit like Nanny MacPhee I guess… (!)
Today is not a good day.
Today I see myself as the hindrance to progress. I notice that I remove myself from the picture and things go better. Days like today it’s very hard to fight the idea that maybe I would be better off removed. That maybe I’m holding people back from their progress by being around.
Mostly though I’m angry. At myself more than anything. For listening, and for not listening. For pushing myself that bit too far, when I should have listened to the voice telling me to turn tail and flee. I’m angry at everything the last day or so though, and I DON’T like that. Last night I was hesitant about venturing into town because of St Patrick’s day, and the potential crowds and rowdiness.
I’d spoken to a friend about it, who’d said I should try to see my friends and not worry too much about what might not even happen. So I sucked it up and decided to go. I didn’t even have to get into town before encountering what I didn’t want to meet. They got on the bus. But, I decided I would push through and be able to calm down and would be OK. What I should have done, was got off the bus and turned around and gone home. Instead, I managed to calm down a bit, got the admin I needed to do out of the way, and realised that I wasn’t feeling brave enough to really talk to anyone. I ignored another point where I could have chosen to go home. Instead, telling myself it’ll be OK… and then some rather loud people got to playing some game, which set me right on edge again…and it was all downhill from that point. I came across as awkward, and I don’t know what… because I ended up feeling a bit interrogated when I asked a question, which made me want to RUN. I sat on it, but I was glad to be able to escape, and that isn’t right. I went home and went to bed. Not even an episode of QI helped, so I went to bed.
I woke up again covered in bruises. Second day in a row, although not the same place this time. Yesterday I’d blatantly been held down by the chest, as I can make out the handprints (there’s no way I could have done it to myself without removing my arms and switching them round… ) this morning, it’s my arms and shoulders that are suffering. Thank goodness for long-sleeved tops is all I’ll say about coming to work today. I don’t know what has happened while I’ve been sleeping – I remember struggling against being pinned and the bed being a mess upon waking up, so obviously been tossing/turning/writhing, but who or what I’ve been rallying against, I don’t have a clue. I’m not sure I want to either to be honest, although I also don’t want it to continue either. Ironic really, that normally I’m wanting to not remember what I dream about, that the one time it might be a good idea to have a clue is the one time I don’t. I’ll admit to being a bit uneasy about it, maybe even a little scared.
It’s certainly not the first time that what has happened in my dreams has spread into the real world, and it’s not even the worst occurances. The worst was being sliced in the ribs by a sword in my dream, and waking up to find my side opened up – 6″ long and a good half inch deep. No blood or anything, and nothing I could have done it on. And witnessed. I’ve woken up covered in scratches across my face and arms from being raked by claws, when I have no nails able to do that. And I’ve had bruises before I have a photo of the giant one in the middle of my back which a friend had found after I’d complained of back pain. A couple of weeks ago, I had a scar appear on my right arm overnight, including the ridge. The ridge has gone, but the scar is still there, and if I’d had the corresponding injury to it, I would have known. Why it happens, and why it comes through to waking life, I don’t know. Wish I did! I’d like to understand it… but this feels different. I can’t explain why or how, maybe it’s because there is a definite handprint, or maybe it was the feeling of being pinned down and the panic associated with that, I don’t know…. but there is a point where it starts to sound a little crazy, even to me. And I think this is getting to that point. I don’t have a clue where to begin as to understanding it, let alone being able to do something about it… any any suggestions would be welcomed, cause I’ll consider anything as an option, even that I’m just losing my sanity. I’m sure plenty think that… and maybe they are right. I don’t know… but this is a bit odd, even for me…. are alarm bells ringing for anyone else??