Reflecting now on the downward spiral which began after the drop to 37.5, I think I truly had not laid the foundation adequately. So much of what needed to be place for success was barely perceptible, inconsequential, non-existent or merely under-development, much like the ‘story of house”, vulnerable to a series of minor wind storms … compromised in its integrity, first the strings straggle and sag, before collapse and then the wooden beams crack under the onslaught of 75 mph winds …
I read back now over this journey and hardly read a description of a triumph. Perhaps because it is so much easier or more necessary to communicate fear than joy or perhaps because the successes propelled me forward in the outer world, away from a need to reach out …
I had a dream last night. I was young with a lover or a husband. At my parent’s home. We were going to sleep, they were putting us up to sleep for the night in the attic. It was the old crawlspace above the kitchen in my old home in Farmingdale. But bigger. The higher section quite distinctly separate from the lower.
I was to sleep in the lower section. Numerous sheets had been tacked up to between the rooms. My mother had already informed me of what behavior was expected. We would sleep apart, unaware of one another. Chaste. I was sent to bed first, ostensibly to be already asleep when he turned in.
But I am still awake and hear him enter and lie down. Some strong part of me says “I am more his than my mother’s” and so I push aside the curtains and lie next to him.
We have sex. At first, I think only we will keep this quiet but then passion ignites and rages inside of us simultaneously. We will wake the entire house, we will shake the entire house with the fury of our lovemaking. It is the most intense sexual experience of my life.
Afterward, my first thought is to return to my own bed. So that in the morning, when she opens the door to the closet, she will find me where she left me. Still dressed in a night robe. It will be difficult for her to prove that what happened was not a dream. That what woke her was not something raw and untamed within her own consciousness.
I stay instead. Wait for the morning. Know that when she opens the door, I will stay nothing. I will just be there. Where I belong. I sense without us saying anything his acknowledgement of this huge shift in me. That I have actually just become myself. And that only now can I truly be his.
In the dream, during the sex, I am still observing, realizing these young bodies are not me, not this ‘he’ of my dream who is so young. We age before my eyes but not in an unpleasant way. We age in a way which is one of perfection. In a way which makes me feel that this still is possible for my life.
And I think of how this part of me, this sexuality, this aliveness, has been buried so deep by all these medications. I had not missed it. I had not realized its absence. I wonder too if I ever actually felt such intense joy. Such an intense sense of belonging to another.