Today I am thankful for a wake up call.
I have two 30 year high school reunions this year.
I attended one school in a very small town until the tenth grade. My teachers were amazing. They actually arranged to pick me up from my foster homes throughout the city and drive me to this school in this small town each and every day.
This is probably why I try to buy extra school supplies each and every year.
I was once voted the second ugliest girl in school.
I was in the eighth grade.
It hurt a little bit but not too much.
I had friends.
These friends would help me out. They made sure I wasn't alone at lunch. They tutored me.
My mother didn't care about my appearance. My friends had their mothers do my hair.
I lived in a Latino town.
My hair had height!
But.....my mom didn't like the photos.
I loved it.
I wanted, more than anything, to learn Spanish.
I took three years of it.
I can never sound as beautiful as the kids I went to school with.
There were a couple of boys that I was close to growing up.
Scott B.
My name was Sheila A. We always sat together, year.....after year.
He became a nightclub owner. When I was down and out, he offered me a job as an exotic dancer.
I turned it down. I have too many body image issues to be happy flinging my clothes every which way.
It was a very kind gesture on his part.
Sean K.
For some reason we tended to always sit across the aisles from each other....year...after year.
He owns a restaurant near my old office. I try to promote his business to my friends in the area.
He's the one that taught me to be a realist.
He let me in on a secret. Santa Claus wasn't real....
neither was the Easter Bunny.
My parents were just cheap!!!
Sean also taught me that cooking was gross.
Bread dough.....we decided....felt like a human leg. We were in the third grade.
I don't like to knead dough. It's strange that he became the chef.
In seventh grade, I always wore a big ribbon in my hair. Sean helped me stop the habit. He told me it looked like I had a toothache.
Sean is still funny. He missed his calling. He should have been a stand up comedian.
sigh.....
Then there was Brian F. In my eyes, he always looked like an angel. His hair was white...his eyes were blue....and he always had a smile on his face and a book in his hand.
He was so very kind to me.
After I moved away, I'd visit the mall where he worked. I once modeled for a department store at the mall and would run into him from time to time. He worked at the pet store.
He comforted me when Tom and I broke up. He met my daughter when she was a baby.
He was always there.....until the mall closed.
He found me on Facebook. We keep in touch every few years.
They had a class reunion today.
I didn't go.
I was sexually assaulted by a friend of my sister at the age of 17. After I learned the identity of my attacker, I learned that his brother was in my graduating class.
I have never gone to a reunion at this school because I didn't want to face anyone who looked like my attacker.
I make other excuses, too. This weekend, I had several hypnosis clients. There was the pride parade. I do have a foster child living with me. I fear for her mental health. I didn't want to leave her alone.
It was father's day. Michael may have wanted to see the kids.
I was better of staying home.....right?
I received a text message about ten minutes ago. Brian....flew all the way out here....and was disappointed that I did not show up. He reminded me that life is short. There isn't a lot of time to waste.
I missed my chance.
He's going home tomorrow.
*****
Tomorrow is the last day to buy tickets for the reunion from the school I graduated from. I don't want to go alone. I'm trying to avoid a man who hit on me despite being married.
When I go to the school, all I think about is Tom. The last time I toured the school, the locker that he smacked is head into still had a dent in it. He smacked his head into the locker because I was sad. It was within days of my step-father's suicide in 1986,
The last time I visited the high school was in 2007.
I started to cry. That's when people started to recognize me.
I guess I had raccoon eyes growing up - or- I cried too damn much.
I could feel Tom.
It just made me run out of that place in tears.
I don't want to remember some things.
I don't want to go alone.
If I go, I'm thinking that I should buy an extra set of tickets and invite someone else.
Part of me just wants to sit it out.
I am in pain.
I don't want to share my pain.
All I do is cry.
The dreams probably have something to do with it.
I don't understand how my subconscious mind works.
Dreams aren't real.
They're just dreams.
They feel real.
They feel like I'm living in a different world. I've had these dreams since 2004. Maybe it is a parallel universe.
In this world.... I'm married. I'm happy. I'm living in Chicago of all places. I have a doctorate. I teach psychology. I've written books.
I even see the face of the man I'm married to in this dream world. In my dreams, he picks on me in a playful fashion. I see his bicycle. The paint in the condo is beige. We have little furniture. It's tan. There is a rug on the floor. The windows are tall. He proudly displays my Ph.D. on the wall and reminds me that his contribution is the most important part - my name.
I laugh. We talk about the girls.....and a boy and laugh. We talk about efforts to find Michael as he has disappeared and we are trying to find him so he can attend his daughter's wedding.
The dream always ends with this man tickling me and making fun of my middle name (which is funny....it's a guy's name).
I wake up.......and none of it is real.
I wake up in my bed....with the green quilt....my companion cube.....my tablet.....my book of shadows (or journal if you'd prefer to call it that)....my glasses.... a picture of Jesus being held by a saint..... and tissues next to me.
I can see my Peavey T-40.....my laptop and my microphone.
There are dresses hanging off of my canopy bed. On that note, I am happy that I've gotten over my fear of wearing dresses. I'm wearing about five each week. I stopped wearing them when someone grabbed me and made a mess on my leg.
This is my life. It is nowhere near my dream world.
It is a safer life. I don't have to open myself up to anyone in this world.
I don't have to fear being hit.....or stalked.
Maybe the dreams are just possibilities that I have to decide if I want.
They are not real.
I spend 1/3 of my day dreaming about a fantasy life that isn't real.
When the man in those dreams steps forward in real life, I always run away from him......always.
I fear him. I literally fear something that I can't quite grasp.
Maybe I don't want to live in Chicago (just kidding).
Yes, I have dreams about running away from him, too.
The shrinks would tell me that each person in the dreams is a part of my psyche. The man I'm supposed to be married to is my animus and yada...yada...yada.
I guess my dream doctorate would be in Jungian practice. Those are offered in California.
*****
Maybe I'm wrong to hide.
Maybe Brian is right.
Life is too damn short to keep sitting out.....to stay asleep....to think of things that aren't real.
He's trying to get me to go to the hypnosis conference this August.
I don't go because I fear the stalking. I don't want to leave the kids home alone when I'm off gallivanting in another town.
Maybe I should go....
It's near his home.
I'll think about it.
To be quite honest about it, I don't want to go.
It hurts too much.
My business.....I don't advertise because I fear the harassment.
I don't want to go to my reunion. My hometown reminds me of stalking and relationship failure.
I'll stay away.
I just need to find something else to do.
Please don't be like me....afraid to live.
Please life each day of your life to its fullest.
Love ya,
S.
