What am I afraid of...

What am I afraid of?

Why is the question that is currently circling through my brain at this moment? I have been spending the morning in bed, just as I thought that I would. It is only ten, but I am still on Mountain Time so my body is telling me that I have been a lay-about for half the day already. And my ears are ringing like the liberty bell resides between them.

Typing this is going to take a very long time. But I really want to get this out before things get to fuzzy and the haze of the drugs wraps about my mind and clings to it with a death grip that will not loosen for hours.

It is days like today that I hate. I tried to finish the sentence, but really, it is just that. On days like today, I just hate. Which is why I probably am sitting up forcing thought to formulate past the searing blindness of it all. Almost white-hot. When things burn so intensely that they become white. People always think of red, but for me, it is white that burns hotter… On those days I am a zombie. Staring into space, unable to leave the bed. But somehow, on days like today there is just enough hidden reserve to push past it all for a little longer, before the relief of sleep beckons and I cannot refuse any longer. And I am almost there already. And it is twenty past ten.

I am slow. And distracted in my thoughts and the dream that forced me out of bed in the first place is rapidly fading away into the mists that surround my mind like the fog that settles upon San Francisco.

That dream. It was so real.

I dreamed of people in my past along with people in my present and it made perfect sense. It took my pondering under the blankets to realize that it was not a memory, rather just a dream. And I know that dreams only have the weight that we give them, but they also are beacons that we can use to illuminate the darkness upon the reflection of meanings and symbolisms.

I dreamt of an occurrence that I know in my pained awakeness would never happen. But it makes me pause anyway. Am I doing the right thing? Or am I letting my fears grab me and place doubt where there has been none? It is good to question, but is it good to doubt? Do I belong with this man who has been my best friend for the past year? Or do I secretly long for something else? But I know that answer. I do not.

Even in my dream, it was the memory of the passion behind the touch of a past lover that gave me pause. It was not the person himself. I was even surprised in the dream that I had moved that far past this man. I am even a little surprised now. But there it is. I have moved past this man. Whatever chance there might have been is gone. It was gone before, but now it is past that point of reconsideration. As in, I denied the feeling of physical pleasure because of a promise I had made, but deep down, I did not want to feel the heat of passion when I knew that it would be followed by something so empty that I would happily choose the ringing of my ears over the emptiness of emotion and attachment.

And I guess upon reflection, it is that this past lover was so vivid in the experience, is why he was the one in question to test my promise. But I did not hesitate. I did not falter. I felt badly for the physical response to his hand upon my shoulder, and guilty that I cried in his arms, but I did not waiver or break, or even want to. I cried because even in my dreams I am exhausted. From pushing to hard, for going to far, from moving too fast. I am tired. And his was the shoulder that was there. I think if he had been a perfect stranger, I would have still cried. But I cannot cry now. For all that I would give anything to just cry for the release, I will not.

Perhaps that bothers me more than facing a man I have grown to love in ways I never knew before, who is likely going to push me harder than I have ever pushed myself. And I am exhausted already.

Why am I going to push so hard to be a guinea pig all over again? And what have I got to loose? Can I force the drive and enthusiasm to try all over again when all I really have left is the drive to get out of bed each day? Can I do this and still have something more than a shell of a person at the end of the trials? It is not that I am thinking that I will fail, or that trying new things are bound to fail no matter what, it is that I am afraid that I do not have enough of me to succeed past the first few attempts.

And I have done this all before. I know what mountain I will be climbing. I may not know what lies beyond the mountain, but I also know that it requires a perilous trek to the top. There is no helicopter or magic ruby slippers to click to just lift me over to the end result.

And can I really go through it all again?

And what if I end up worse than I am now. Some of the trying made things worse; it is the risk that is involved when playing at such odds. Yes, I may win, but I may also loose even more. And that alone makes me wish that I could cry. But he pushes for this over and over. And I know that he means well and wants for the best, but in the end, it comes down to my strength, determination and resilience. No matter the support that I have to help me though, it is still me that must go through this.

And I wonder if we will make it through this push of his… Or if we will survive if there is nothing to be done. If his hopes are so wrapped up in finding a fix or a cure or a repair for the damage that when his hopes have been dashed, if he can handle it, and me, or if he will resent me and everything that I am.

And I had no idea that was where I was going with all of this.

I am drained. There is no more for today. I am going back to bed.